DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


Treasure  "Room 


yPECTATIO> 


BY 


HARLES   DICKER 


s 


MOBIL  I 
S.  H.  GOETZEL.V 


TV. 


4 


GREAT    EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

My  father's  family  name  being  Pirrip,  and   my  Christian  name 
Philip,  my  infant  tongue  could  make  of  both  names  nothing  I< 
or  more  explicit  than  Pip.     So  I  called   myself  Pip,  ami   came  to 

be  called  Pip.- 

!  give  Pirrip  as  my  father's  family  name,  on  the  authority  of  his 
tombstone  and  my  sister — Mrs.  .Toe  Gargery,  who  married  the 
blacksmith.  As  1  never  saw  my  father  or  my  mother,  and  never 
saw  any  likeness  of  either  of  them  (for  their  days  were  long  before 
the  days  of  photographs);  my  first  fancies  regarding  what  they 
were  like  were  unreasonably  derived  from  their  tombstones.  The 
■  of  the  letters  on  my  father's  gave  me  an  odd  idea  that  he 
was  a  square,  stout,  dark  man.  with  curly  black  hair.  From  the 
character  and  turn  of  the  inscription,  "  also  Gem-pinna  wife  of  /he 
ahor<  a  childish  conclusion  that  my  mother  was  freckled 

and  sickly.  To  live  little  stone  lozenges,  each  about  a  foot  and  a 
half  long,  which  were  arranged  in  a  neat  row  beside-  their  grave, 
and  were  sacred  to  the  memory  of  five  little  brothers  of  mine — 
who   ■  trying   to  get   a  living  exceedingly  early  in   that 

universal  struggle — 1  am  indebted  for  a  belief  1  religiously  enter- 
tained thai  they  had  all  been  horn  on  their  hacks  with  their  hands 
in  their  trowsers-pockets,  and  had  never  taken  them  out.  in  this 
state  of  existence. 

Ours  was  the  marsh  country,  down  by  the  river,  within,  as  the 
river  wound,  twenty  miles  of  the  sea.  My  first  distinct  impression 
of  the  identity  of  things  seems  to  me  to  havfc  been  gained  on  a 
memorable  raw,  damp  afternoon  toward  evening.  At  such  a  time 
I  found  out  fin-  certain  that  this  bleak  place  overgrown  with  nettles' 
was  the  church-yard  ;  and  that  .  ohias  Pirrip,  late  of  this  Parish, 
and  also  Georgiana,  wife  of  the  above,  were  dead  and  buried;  and 
that  Alexander,  Bartholemew,  Abraham, George,  and  Robert,  infant 
children  of  the  aforesaid,  were  also  dead  and  buried;  and  that  the 
dark,  flat  wilderness  beyond  the  church-yard,  intersected  with 
dikes  and  mounds  and  jjates,  witk   scattered  uattla   ; 


/MI5930 


4  GREAT  EXPECTATI01 

was  the  marshes  :•  and  that  the  low  leaden  line  beyond  was 
river;  and  that  the  distant  savage  lair  from  which  the  wind  was 
rushing  was  the  sea  ;  and  that  the  small  bundle  of  shivers  grow- 
ing afraid  of  it  all  and  beginning  to  cry,  was  Pip. 

"Hold  your  noise!  "  cried  a  terrible  an  started  up 

among  the  graves  at  the  side  of  the  church-porch, 
your  noise,  yfou  little  devil,  or  I'll  cut  your  throat  !  " 

A  fearful  man,  all  in  gray,  with  a  greal  i 
with  no  bat,  and  broken  shoes,  and  wil  tied  round  his 

head.     A  man  who  had  been  soaked   in  water  and   smothered  in 
mud,  and  lamed  by  stones,  and  cut  by  flints,  and  stung  by  nettles, 
and  torn  by  briers;    who   limped,  and   shivered,  and   glared, 
growled;  and  whose  teeth  chattered  in  his  head  as  he  seized  me 
bin. 

"Don't  cut  mv  throat.  Sir!  "  1  pleaded  in  terror.     •'  Pray  i 
.  !" 

"  ",  id  the  man.    "  Quid 

■■  y- 

."  said  the  Give  11  i 

.  '•  Pip.     Pij),  £ 
'■  Show  •  you   live,"  said    I 

■ !  " 

where  <w  village  lay  on 
ollards,  a  mile  or  more  from  the  church. 
The  man,  after  looking  at  me  for  a  moment,  turned  me  upside- 
my  packets.    Ther  thing  in  them  but; 

ad.    When  the  church  came  to  itself— for 
I  strong  that  he  made  over  be 

and  I  steeple  under  my  legs — when   the  church   6an 

was  seated   on  a  high  tombstone  trembli 
he  ate  .  usly. 

dog  !  "  said  the  man,  lie  lips  at  me,  " 

ha'  got !  " 
I  bi  :e  fat,  though  1  was  at  that  time  undersized 

for  my  years,  and  not  strong. 

"Di  I  couldn't  eat  'em,"  said  the  man,  with  a  threaten- 

ing bis  head,  "and  if  1  han't  half  a  mind  to  't!  " 

1  earnestly  expressed  my  hope  that  he  wouldn't,  and  held  tigh 
to  the  tombstone  on  which  he  had  put  me;    partly  to  keep  m; 
it,  partly  to  keep  myself  from  crying. 
"Now  then,  lookie  here!"   said  the   man.     "Where's    your 
■  mother?  " 

"  There,  Sir  !  "  said  I. 

He  started,  made  a  short  run,  and  stopped  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  There,  Sir !  "  1  timidly  explained.    "Also  Georgianna.     That's 
my  mother." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Oho!"  said   he,  coming  back.     "And   is  that    you 
alonger  yotir  moth< 

::-,"  said  i  ;   "  him  i  Df  this  pai 

"  Ha!  "  he  muttered  then,  considering.     "  Who  d'ye  live  with — 
supposin'  vou're  kindly  let  to  live,  whicfl  I  han'1  made  up  my  i 
about  ?"  .' 

ter,  Sir —  — wife  of 

blacksmith,  Sir." 
"Blacksmith,  eh  ! 

ing  at  his  leg  and  i  ral  time-. 

closer  tn  my  tombstone^  took  me  by  both  arms,  and  tilt"  I 

ild  bold  me;  so  that  hi  ,  owerfully 

down  into  mine,  and  mine  looked  ly  up  into  his. 

oWlookie  here,"  lie  .-aid,  "the  qu 
to  he  let  to  lr 
'.'  Yes,  Sir." 
"  And  you  know  what  wit! 

"  * 

After  each  question  he  tilted  me  over  a  little 

danger. 
"  1  le."     Me  tilted  in.    "  Ahd 

wittle  ''You  bring 'em  both  to  i 

mcl  liver  out." 

tened,  and  so  giddy  that  1  clung'  to  him 
hands,  and  said.  "  if  yon  would  kindly  pie  it  me 

keep  upright,  Sir,  p  shanldn'1  be  sick,  and  perhaps  1  i 

■re." 

(piendous  dip  and  roll,  so  that  the  church 

d  over  its  own  weather-cock.     Then  he  held  me  by  the  arms, 

in  an  upright  poslti  top  of  the  stone,  ami  went  on  in  these 

!  terms  : 

"  Von  bring   me,  to-morrow  morning  early,  that  file,  and  I 

wittles.     Vou  bring  the  lot  to  me  at  that  old  Battery  over  yonder. 

Von  do  this,aud  you  never  dare  to  say  a  word,  or  dare  to  make  a  sign 

n  such  a  person  as  me,  or  any  person, 
i  to  live.     You  fail,  or  yon  go  from  my  words 
in  any  partickler,  no  matter  how  small  the  partickler,  and  your 
•  liver  shall  be  tore  our,  roasted,  and  at  •.     N 

may  think  I  am.     There's  a  young  man  hid 

with  mparison  with  whi<  g  man  Lam  a   In  gel  o' 

young  man  hears   the  words  I  speak.     That  young 

way  pecooliar  to  himself,  of  getting  at  a  boy,  and 

at  his  liearr,  and  at  his  liver.     It  is  in  wadn»for  a  hoy  to  atto  mpt  to 

■   that  young   man.     A  boy  may  lock  his  door, 

be  warm  in  bed,  may  tuck  himself  up,  may  draw  the  clothes 

over  his  head,  may  think  himself  comfortable   and  safe;    but  that 


' 


fcETilOfl 


GtfJEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

young  man  will  softly  creep   and  creep  his  way  to  him   am 
hint  open.     I  am  a  keepiu'  that  young  man  from  harmin'  of  j 
the  present  moment,  with  greart  difficulty .     I   find   it  very  hard  to 
hold  that  young  man   off   of   your   inside     Now,   whai    do 
say  V  .  • 

I  said  that  T  would  got  him  the  file,  and  I  wind'!  get  hint  w 
broken  bus  of  food  I  could,  and  I  would  come  to  him  al 
tery.  early  in  the  morning. 

"  Sav  Lord  strike  you  dead  if  you  don'i  ?"  said  the  man. 

!  said  so,  and  lie  look  me  down. 

•'Now,"  he  pursued,  "you  remember  what  you've  undertook,  and 
remember  that  young  man,  and  you  gel  home  !" 

*"«  Goo-good-nighl,  Sir,"  I  faltered. 

••  .Much  of  that  !"  said  he,  glancing  about  him  over  the  cold,  wet 
flat.     "1  wish  1  was  a  frog.     <  >r  a  eel !" 

At  the  same  time  he  hugged  his  shuddering  body  in  both  his 
arms — clasping  himself  as  if  to  hold  himself  together — and  limped 
lowanl  the  low  church  wall.  As  1  saw  him  go,  picking  his  way 
among  the  nettles,  and  among  the  brambles  that  bound 'the  ever- 
green mounds,  be  looked  in    my  young   eyes  as  if  he  were  elu 

hands  of  the  dead  people,  stretching  up  cautioi  sly  out  of  their 
graves,  to  get  a  twist  upon  his  atkle  and  pull  him  h 

When  he  came  to  the  low  church  wall,  he  got  over  it,  like  a  man 

whose  legs  were  numbed  and  .stiff,  and   then  turned  round  t<>  look 
for  me.    When  I  saw  him  turning,  I  set  ra; 

■  the  best  use  of  my  legs.      But  presently  I   l< 
shoulder,  and  saw  him  going  on  again  toward  the  ri 
girig  himself  in  both  arms,  and  picking  his  way  witl 
among  the  great  stones  dropped  into  the  marshes  here  and  I 
for  stepping- places  when  the  rains  were  heavy,  or  i:  as  in. 

The  marshes  were  just  a  long  black  horizontal  li 

ed  to  look  after  him  ;  and  the  river  was  just  another  horizon- 
tal line  not  nearly  so  broad  nor  yet  so  black  ;  and  the  sky  was  just 
a  row  of  long  angry  red  lines,  and   dense  blaol  lixed. 

( hi  the  edge  of  the  river  I  could  faintly  make  out  the  onlj 
black  things  in  all  the  prospect  that  seemed  to  be  standing  upri 
one  of  these  was  the  beacon  by  which  the  sailors  steered — like  an  un- 
booped  cask  upon  a  pole — an  ugly  slimy  thing  when  you 
it;  the  other,  a  gibbet  with  some  chains  banging  to  it  which  had 
once  held  a  pirate.     The  man  was  limping  on  toward  this  lairer, 
as  if  he  were  the  pirate  coining  to  life  and  come  down,  and  going 
back  to  hook  himself  up  again.     It  gave  me  a  terrible  turn  when 
I  thought  so;  and  as  t  saw  the  black  cattle  lifting  <  to 

gaze  after  him,  I  wondered  whether  they  thong]  I  looked 

all  around  for  the  horrible  young  man,  and  could  s 
hint.      But  now  I  was  frightened  again,  and   ran  home 
stoppi 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


CHAPTER  II. 


My  sister,  Mrs.  Joe  Gargery,  was  more  than  twenty  years  older 
than  I,  and  had  established  a  great  reputation  with  herself  and  the 
neighbors  because  she  had  brought  me  up  "  by  hand."  Having 
at  that,  time  to  find  out  for  myself  what  the  expression  meant,  and 
knowing  her  to  have  a  hard  and  heavy  hand,  and  to  be  much  in 
the  habit  of  laying  it  upon  her  husband,  as  well  as  upon  me.  1 
supposed  that  doe  Gargerj  and  I  were  both  brought  up  by  hand.' 

She  was  not  a  good-looking  woman,  my  sister:  and  1  had  a 
general  impression  that  she  most  have  made  Joe  Gargery  marry 
her  by  hand.  Joe  was  a  fair  man.  with  curls  of  flaxen  hair  on 
a&ch  side  of  his  smooth  face,  and  eyes  of  Bach  a  very  undecided 
blue  that  ihoy  seemed  to  have  somehow  got  mixed  with  their  own 
whites.  He  was  a  mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, 
foolish,  dear  fellow — a  sort   of  Hercules  in   strength,  and   also  in 

ness. 

.  My  sister,  Mrs.  Joe,  with  black  hair  and  eyes,  had  such  a  pre- 
vailing redness  of  skin  that  I  sometimes  used  to  wonder  whether  it 

was  possible  she  washed  herself  with  a  nutmeg-grater  instead  of 
soap.  She  was  tall  and  bony,  and  almost  always  wore  a  coarse 
apron,  fastened  over  her  figure  behind  with  two  loops,  and  having 
a  square,  impregnable  bit  in  front  thai  was  stuck  full  of  pins  and 
needles.  She  made  it  a  powerful  merit  in  herself,  and  a  strong  re- 
proach against,  Joe,  that  she  wore  this  apron  so  much.  Though  1 
really  see  no  reason  now  why  she  should  have  worn  it  at  all  ;  or 
why.  if  she  did  wear  it  at  all,  she  should  not  have  taken*  it  off  every 
day  of  her  life. 

.Toe's  forge  adjoined  our  hou^Te,  which  was  a  wooden  house,  as 
many  of  the  dwellings  in  our  country  were^mosr  of  them,  at  that 
time.  When  1  ran  home  from  the  church-yard,  the  forge  was  shut 
up,  and  Joe  was  sitting  alone  in  the  kitchen.  Joe  and  I  being  fel- 
low-sufferers, and  having  confidence  as  such,  Joe  imparted  a  confi- 
dence to  me  the  moment  I  raised  the  latch  of  the  door  and  peeped 
in  at  him  opposite  to  it,  sitting  in  the  chimney-corner. 

"  Mrs.  Joe  has  been  out  a  dozen  times  looking  for  you.  Pip  ;  and 
site's  out  now,  making  it  a  baker's  do/< 

•'Is  she?" 

•'  Ves.  Tip."  says  Joe.;  "and  what's  worse,  she's  got  Tickler 
with  her." 

At  this  dismal  intelligence,  I  twisted  the  only  button  on  my 
waistcoat  round  and  round,  and  looked  in  great  depression  at.  the 
tire.  Tickler  was  a  waxened  piece  of  cane,  worn  smooth  by  col- 
lision with  my  tickled  frame. 


8  GREAT  EXPECTATION. 

"  She  sat  down,"  said  Joe,  "and  she  got  up,  and  she  made  a 
grab  at  Tickler,  and  she  ram-paged  out,  That's  what  she  did," 
said  Joe,  slowly  clearing  the  fire  between  the  bars  willi  the  poker  ; 
"she  ram-paged  out,  Pip." 

"  Has  she  been  gone  long,  Joe  1"  I  always  treated  him  as  a 
larger  species  of  child,  and  as  no  more  than  my  equal. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  looking  up  at  the   Dutch  clock,  been 

on  the  Ram-page,  this  last  spell,  about  five  minutes,  Tip.  She's  p 
coming!  Get  behind  the  door,  old  chap,  and  have  the  jack-towel 
betwixt-  yen." 

I  took  the  adyiee.  My  sister,  Mrs.  dee,  throwing  the  door  wide 
open,  and  finding  an  obstruction  behind  it,  immediately  divined  the 
".  and  applied  Ticklerto  further  investigation.  Sbeconcluded 
by  showing  me.  1  often  served  her  a  a  connubial  missile  at  Joe, 
who,  glad  to  gel  hold  of  me  on  any  terms,  passed  me  on  into  the 
chimney  and  quietly  fenced  me  there  with  his  greal  I 

"  Where  have  you  been,  yon   young  moi      *         -id    Mrs.  Joe, 
stamping  her  foot.    "Tell  me  directly  whai  you've  been  doij 
wear  me  away  with  fret  and  fright  and  worrit,  or  I'd  bavi 
of  that  corner  if  you  were  fifty. J'ij  8  and  he  was  five  hundred  I 
gerj 

I  have  only  been  to  the  chofch-yard,"  said  1.  from  raj   - 
crying  and  rubbing  myself. 

"  Ohurch-yard  !  "  r  pealed  my  Bister.     "If  it  •  ou'd 

have  been  to  the  ohurch-yard  lo  re.     Who 

brought  yon  up  by  hand  1 " 

"  Vnii  did."  said  I. 

*And  why  did  I  do  it,  1  should  like  to  I  itned  my 

sister. 

I  whimpered,  "I  don'l  L.i 

►"  J  don't  1 "  said  my  sister.     "I'd  d  ain  !     1  know 

that.     1  may  truly  say  I've  never  had  this  apron  of  mine 
born  you  were.     It's  bad  enough  to  be  a  blacksmith's 
him  ;  y),  without  being  your  mother." 

My  thoughts  strayed  from  that   question  as  I    lo<  roso- 

lately  at  the  fire.    For  the  fugitive  out  on  the  marshes  witl 
ironed  leg,  the  mysterious  -young  man,  the  file,  the   victual  . 
the  dreadful  pledge  J  was  under  to  commit  a  larcenj 
sheltering  premises,  rose  before  me  in  the  avenging  coi 

"Hah  !"  said  Mrs.  Joe»j*storing  Tickler to  his  '  Church- 

yard, indeed  !     You  may  well  say  church-yard,  yon 
us,  by-the-by,had  not  said  it  at  all.  "  You'll  dri .  arch- 

yard  betwixt  you  one  of  these  da;. 
be  without  me  ! '" 

applied  herself  to  set  the  tea-ihii  _ 
eg,  as  if  he  were  mental!; 
and   calculating  what    kind 


I 


REA.T  EXPF/TATI  9 

uml  r  i!k'  | 

ilrs.  Jee  about  with  his  blui 
squally  tin 

My  sister  had  a  trenchant  way 
foT  us,  that  never  varied.     First,  fefl  band 

lbaf,  hard  ;  UK'tillies 

into  i'  needle,  frhich 

mouths.     '. 

id  ii  on  tin.-  loaf    . 
making  a  plas 
ping  dexterity,  and  trim  ' 

Then  si 
the  plaster,  and  then  sawed  a  very  thicl 

i  ally,  he!  from  the  loaf,  hewed  in1 

.he  other. 
On  the  present  occasion,  thou  ' 

my  sli  li  that    I   musl    ha 

dreadful-acquaintance  and  his  all; 

I  knew 
and  tl 
not  hii 

awful.     It  v 
my  .mind  to  lea  he  top  i 

.1  of  water.     And  it  wa 
unconscious  J<  masonry  i 

and  in  Ins  good-natured  ip  with  me,  ii  was 

bit  to  compare  the  way  we  bit  thi 
them  u]  id  then — 

which  in  gener 

invited  me,  l; 

with  | 

and-butter  on   .  thai 

■ 

Of   hi: 

his  n  p 

„ 

.  pur- 


10  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   . 

chase  ou  it,  when  his  .eye  fell  oh  me,- and  he  saw  that  my  bread-and- 
butter  was  gone. 

'    The  wonder  and  consternation  with  which  Joe  stopped  on  the 
threshold  of  his  bite  ancLsiared  at  me  were  too  evident  to  esi 
my  .sister's  observation. 

""What's  the  matte*  now?"  said  she  smartly,  as  she  put  down 
her  cup. 

"I  say,  you  know  !  "  muttered  .Inc.  snaking  his  head  at  me  in 

vcty  serious  remonstrances,  "  Pip,  old  chap  !     You'll  do  yourself  a 

bjef.      It'll   stick   somewhere!      you  van't   bave  chawed  it, 

*P'ip." 

•''What's  the  matter  note t"  repeated   ray  sister, , more  sharply 

than  before. 

"If  you  can  cough  any  trifle  on  it  up,  Pip,  I'd   recommend  you 
to  do  it,"  said  Joe  all  "  Manners  is  manners,  but   .still 

ydur  elth'a  your  elth." 

By  this  time  my  sister  was  quite  di  raced  on 

Joe,  and  taking  hnu  by  the  two  whiskers,  knocked  his  head  for  a 
while  against  the  wall  behind  him  :  while  1  sat  in  the  corner 
looking  guiltily  on. 

"  Now,  perb  tps  you'll  mention  what's  the  matter."  said  m\ 
ter,  out  of  breath,  "  you  starin 

doe  looked  al  h  r  in  a  I  el] 
and  looked  at  me  again.  • 
.     "  You  know,  Pip,"  lemnly,  with   his  last   bite  ii 

k,  and  speaking  in  a  c<  quite 

alone,' '•  you  and  me  is  always  friends,  and  I'd  be  the  last   to  tell 
you  any  time.     But  sue!)  a" — he  moved  his  chair  and  1" 
.door  between  us.  and  then   a 
common  bolt  as  thai 

"  Been  bolting 

"You  know,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  looking  Mrs. 

•doe,  with  his  bite  still  in  his  cheek,  "  1  boll  it',  when  I 

your  age — frequent — and  as  a  boy  1\     been  among  a  m 
ers  :  but  I  never  see  j  our  equal  yet   Pip, and  it's 
choked  dei 

My  sister  made  a  drive  at   me.  :  lair : 

saying  nothing  mon 
sed." 

Some  medical  b« 
line  medicine,  i  doe  alwa  .  ly  of  it  in  the  cup- 

board; having  a  belief  in  its  lent* to  its  horrible 

nastiness.     At  the  best  9&  *  .min- 

istered to  me  as  a  choice  resfi  «  ft 

about  smelling  like  a  new  fence; 
urgency  of  my  case  dem; 
poured  down  my  throat, 


* 


I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIO  11 

heW  my  head  under  her  arm  as  a  boot  w  held  in  a 

If  ;i  vim  ;  but  was  made  t"  take  that 
(mach  to  his  disturbam  md  mediti 

before  the  fire),  "  tw  had  had  a  turn."     Ji 

1   should  rtainly  hi  if  he  had  had 

■ 
Iful  thing  when  ii  a  d  or  hoy  ;  Inn 

when,  in  the  a  I  burden  cooperates  withan- 

"i  burden  down  fhe  rowsers,  II 

I  punishment.  iiy  know'' 

e  rob  Mrs,  Jp<  — 1  never 
I  never  thought  of  any  of  tl 

essity  of  i  g  one  hand  on  the  >  [-but- 

■  I  sat,  or  when  I  was  ordered  a!. our  tJbe  kitchen  on  a 
errand,  almost  drove  me  oi  ofind.     Then,  ;is  the  March 

winds  made  the  fire  glow  and  flare,  I   thought    I   beard  the  . 

outside  of  the  man  with  the  iro     on  his  leg  who  had  sworn 
me  to  Beereey,  d<  daring  that  be  couldn't  and  wouldi  until 

mow.  but  must  be  fed  now.     Al  other  times,  I  thoq 
if  the  young  man  who  was  with  so  much  difficulty  restrained  from 
im*bruing  bis  hands  in  me,  should  either  yield  to  his  con 

should  mistake  the  lis.  I  ould  think  himself 

accredited  to  my  heart  and  liver  to-night,  instead  i  -uw  ! 

\  's  hair  stood,  on  end  with  terror,  mil 
done  so  then.     ;  nobody's  ever  did  ? 

It  was  Christmas  eve,  and  1   bad  to  stir  the  pud 

the  copper-stick,  from  seven  to  eighl  I  y  tb<    I 
J   tried  it  with  the  load  upon  my  leg  (and    hat  made  me  think 

h  of  the  man  with  the  iron  on  his  leg),  and  found  thi 
<<i'  exercise  to  bring  the  bread-and-butter  out  aKT  my  ancle,  quite  un- 
manageable and  unconquerable.  Happily  J  slipped  away,  and  de- 
I  that  part  of  my  conscience  in  my  garret  bedroom. 
"  Hark  !  "  said  I,  when  1  had  done  my  stirring,  and  was  taking 
a  final  warm  in  the  chimney  corner  before  being  sent  up  to  bed  ; 
••  was  that  guns,  d< 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Joe.  (other  conwicl  of]'.'' 

."  What  doe;  1. 

Mrs.  doe,  who  always  took  explanations  upon  herself, said,  snap- 
pishly, "Escaped — escaped."  Administering  the  definition  like 
tar-water. 

While.  Mrs.  doe  sat  with  her  head  ben  ding  over  her  needle-work, 
.1  put  my  month  into  the  forms  of  saying  to  Joe.  "  What's  a  con- 
vict ("  doc  put  his  mouth  ini.  si  ch  a 
highly  elaborate  answer,  that  L  could  make  out  nothing  of  it  bar 
the  single  word  "  Pip." 

"  There  was  one  off  last  night,"  said  doc.  aloud,  "after  sui 


1-2  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

gun.     And  they  fired  warning  of  him.     And  now,  it  appears,  they're 
firing  warning  of  another." 
"  Who's  firing'?"  said  I. 

"Drat  that  child,"  interposed  my  sister,  frowning  at  me  over  her 
work,  "  what  a  questioner  he  is.  Ask  no  questions,  and  you'll  be 
told  no  lies." 

It  was  not very  polite', to  herself,  I  thought,  to  imply  that  I  should 
be  told  lies  by  her, 'even  if  I  did  ask  questions.  But  she  never  was 
.polite,  unless  there  was  company. 

At  this  point  Joe  greatly  augmented  my  curiosity  by  taking  the 
utmost  pains  to  open  his  mouth  very  wide,  and  put  it  into  the  form  of 
a  woi  d  that  looked  to  me  like  "  sulks."  Therefore  I  naturally  pointed 
to  Mrs.  Joe,  and  put  my  mouth  into  the  form  of  saying  "  her  '.  " 
But  Joe  wouldn't  hear  of  that  at  all,  and  again  opened  his  mouth 
very  wide,  and  shook  the  form  of  a  most  emphatic  word  out  of  it. 
But  1  could  make  nothing  of  the  word. 

«{  Mrs.  Joe,"  said  I,  as  a  last  resource,  "  I  should  like  to  know — 
if  you  wouldn't  much  mind — wb<  re  the  firing  comes  from  %  "  . 
"  Lord  bless  the  boy  !  "  exclaimed  my  sister,  as  if  she  didn't 

•  i  that,  but  rather  the,  contrary.     "  From  the  Hulks." 
"  Oh-ho !  "  said  I,  looking  at  Joe.     "Hulks!  " 
Joe  gave  a  reproachful  cough,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well,  I  told 
you  so." 

••  And  please  what's  Hulks?"  said. I. 

way  with  this  boy  !  "  exclaimed  my  sister,  pointing 
iut  with  her  needle  and  thread,  and  shaking  her  head.     "  An- 
swer him  one  question,  and  he'll  a  t  dozen  directly.     Hulks 
.s,  right- "cross  tV  .  used  tliat 
marshes  in  our  country* 
'•1  wonder-    ,               I    into  prison-ships,  and-  why   they're  put 

said  I,  in  a  general  way  and  with  desperation. 
It  was  too  much  for  Mrs. .Joe,  who  immediately  rose.    "I  tell 
what,  young  n,  "I. didn't  bring  you  up  by  hand 

i'iger  people's  lives  oi>t.     It  .and  not 

I  had.     People  are  put  in  the  Hulks  tnu«- 

sethey  rob,  and 
always  begin  by  asking' questions.*    -  bed1.'; 

i  was  never  allowed  a  ind,  as  I  went 

airs  in  the  dark,  with  my  head  tin  om  Mrs.  Joe's  thim- 

ibe  tambourine  upon  it  to  accompai- 
ully  sensible  of  it  convenience   lha 

1  Hulks  were  handy  for  me.     I. was  clearly  on  my  way  thei  • 
begun  ing  questions,  and  I  was  goin  Irs.  Joe. 

Since  that,  tim-,  which  is  far  enough   away  now,  I   have 
thought  that  few  people  :;at-seereey  there  is  in  the  young, 

under  terror.     No  bat  it 

srror.     i  was  in  mortal  terror  of  the  voting  man   who  wanted 


UK  EAT' EXPECT  ATIl>:  IB 

my  heart  and  liver;  T  was  in  mortal  terror  of  my  interlocntor  with 
the  ironed  leg;  I  was  in  mortal  tenror.  of  my" self,  from  whom  an 
awful  proi  n  exacted';    1   bad  no  hope  of  deliverance 

■  gh  my  all-powerful  sister,  who  repulsed  mo  al  every  turn  ;  I 
am  afraid  to  think,  even  now,  of  what  1  might  have  done,  upon 
requirement,  in  the  Becresy  of  my  terror. 

If  1  slept  at  all  that  night,  it.  was  only  to  imagine  myself  drift- 
ing down  the  i  strong  spring  tide  to  the  Hulks ;  a  ghostly 
pirate  calling  out  to  me  through  a  speaking   trumpet,  as    i   passed 
.on,  that  I  had  better  come  ashore,  and  he  han 

at  it  off.  I  was  afraid  to  sleep,  even  if  I 
had- been  inclined,  for  1  knew  that  at  the  first  faint  dawn  of  morn- 
ing I  mm,  pantry,  a  no  gelling  a  light  by  • 
friction  then ;  to  have  got  one  1  must  have  struck  it  out  of  flint 
and  sieel,  and  have  made  a  noise  like  the  very,  pirate  himself  rat- 
tling his  chaii 

tie  great  black  velvet  pall  outside  my  little  window 

.  1  got. up  and  went  down  stairs.i    every  hoard 

the' way,  ami  i  board,  calling  after  me, 

"•Stop  thief !"  and  "Get  up,  Mrs.  Joe  !  "     In  the  pantry,  which 

lantly  supplied  than  usual,  owing  to  the  season, 

1  was  very  much  alarmed   by  a  hare  hanging  up   by  the   !, 

b  was  half  tun 
!  had  no  time   for  verification,  no  lime  for  selection,  no 
time  for  any  thing,  for  I  hacrno  time  to  spare.     I  stole  some  bread, , 
some  rind  of  cheese,  about  half  a  jar  of  mince-meat  (which  I. lied 
up  in   m\  indkerebief  with  my  last  night's  slice),   some 

•brandy  from  a  stone  bottle  (which  I  decanted  into  a  glass  hot  lie  [ 
secretly'used  for  making  that  intoxicating  fluid,  Spanish-liquor- 
ater,  up  in  my  room  :  diluting  the  stone  bottle  from  a  jug  in 
itchen  cupboard),  a  meat  hone  with  very  little  on  it,  and  a 
tiful  round,  compact  pork-pie.  1  was  neatly  going  awaywith- 
e  pie,  bul  unpted  to  mount  upon  a  shelf  to  look. what 

'A  was  that  was  pui  carefully  in    a   covered   earthenware 

q  a  corner,  and  I  found  it  was  the   pie,  and   i   took'  it  in  the 
not  intended  for  early  use,  and  would  not 
mis-  ne  time. 

door  in  the  kitchen  communicating  with  the  forge  ; 
1  unlocked  and  unbolted  that  door,  and  got  a  file  from  aim 

.  put  the  fastenings  as  L  .  ad  found  them,  opened  the 
door  aJ  which  1  had  entered  when  I  ran  homo   last   l  it.it, 

ran  tor  the  misty  marsl 


U  UREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


CHAPTER  III. 


It  was  a  rimy  morning,>and  very  damp.  I  had  seen  the  damp 
lying  on  the  outside  of  my  little  window,  as  if  some  goblin  bad 
been  crying  there  all  night,  and  Being  the  window  for  a  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Now  I  saw  the  clamp  lying  on  the  bare  hedges  and 
.  e  grass;  like  a  coarser  sort  of  spider's -wens;  hanging  itself 
iroin  twig  to  twig  and  blade  to  blade      On  every  rail  and  gate  wet 

cjaiumy;  and  the  marsh   mist  was  so  thick  that  the  wooden 

■r  on  the  post,  directing  people  to  our  village — a  direction 
which  they  never  accepted,  for  they  never  came  there — was  invis- 
ible to  me  until  I  was  quite  close  under  it.  Then,  as  I  looked  up 
at  it,  while  it  dripped,  it  seemed,  to  my  oppressed  conscience,  like 
a  phantom  devoting  me  to  the  Hulks. 

The  mist  was  heavier  yet  when  I  got  out   upon  the  marshes,  so 
that,  instead  of  my  running  at  every  thing,  every  thing  seem  - 
run  at  me.-   This  was  very  disagreeable  to  a  quid  mind.    The  gates 
and  dikes  and  banks  came  bursting  at  me  t  hrough  the  mist,  as  if  they 

I  as  plainly  as  could  lie,  •' A  boy  with  a  pork-pie  !  Stop  him  !  " 
The  black  cattle  came  upon   me  with  like  suddenness,  staring  out 

eir  eyes,  and  smoking  out  of  their  nostrils,  "  Halloa,  young 
thief  J  "  One 'black  ox'/ with  awhile  cravat  on-  who  had  to  my 
awakened   conscience   something  of   a    clerical    air — fixed   me  so 

dily  with  his  eyes,  and  moved  his  blu»t  bead  round  in  such  ' 
an  acCusatory  manner  as  I  moved  round,  that  I  called  out  to 
him,  "  1  couldn't  help  it !  It  wasn't  for  myself  I  took  it!  "  Upon 
which  he  put  down  his  head,  blew  a,  cloud  of  smoke  out  of  his 
nose,  and  vanished  with  a'kick-up  of  Ins  hind  leg  and  a  flourish  of 
his  tail. 

AH  this  time  1  was  getting  on  toward  the  river;  out  how 
fast  1  went,  I  couldn't  warm  my  feet,  he  which  the  damp 
seemed  riveted,  as  the  iron  was  riveted  to  the  leg  of  the  man  I  was 
ig  to  meet,  i  knew  my  Way  to  the  Battery  pretty  straight. 
lor  I  had  been  down  there  on  a  Sunday  with  Joe,  and  due  had, 
sitting  on  an  old  gun,  told  me  that  when  I  was  'prentice  to  him 
regularly  bound,  we  would  have  such  Larks  (here  as  should  recom- 
pense us  for  our  restraint  at  home.  However,  in  the  confusion 
■  of  (he  mist,  1  found  myself  at  last  too  far  to  the  right,  and  conse- 
quently had.  to  try  back  along  the  river-sjde,  on  the  bank  of  loose. 
stones  above  the  mud  and  the  stakes  that  staked  the  tide  out,  to 
come  at  the  Battery.  Making  my  way  along  here  with  all  dispatch, 
1  had  just  crossed  a  ditch  which  1  knew  to  be  very  near  the  Battery, 
and  i  'Tiuuuled  up  the  mound  beyond  the  ditch,  when  1 


GflKEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  16 

* 

saw  the  man  silting-  before  me.  His  back  was  toward  me,  and  lie 
had  got,  his  arms  folded,  and  was  nodding  forward  heavy  with 
sleep. 

I  thought  ho  would  be  more  glad  if  I  camo  upon  him  with  his 
breakfast  in  that  unexpected  manner,  so  I  went  forward  softly 
and  touched  Him  on  the  shoulder,  lie  instantly  jumped  up,  anil 
it  was  not  the  man,  but  another  man! 

.  And  yet  he  was  dressed  in  coarse  gray,  too,  and  In;. I  ;;  great 
iron  on  his  leg,  and  was  lame,  and  hoarse,  and  cold,  and  was  every- 
thing that  the  other  man  was  ;  except  that,  he  had  not  the  same 
face,  and  had  a  flat,  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  felt  hat  on.  All 
this  1  saw  in  a  moment,  for  I  had  only  a  moment  to  see  it  in  ;  he 
swore  an  oath  at  me,  made  a  hit  at  me — it  was  a  round  weak  blow 
that  missed  me  and  almost  knocked  himself  down,  for  it.  made  him 
stumble — and  then  he  ran  into  the  mist,  tumbling  twice  as  he  went, 
and  I  lost  him. 

"It's  the  young  man  !"  I  thought.  I  felt  my  heart  shoot  as  1 
identified  him  ;  and  I  dare  say  I  should  have  felt,  a  pain  in  my 
liver,  too,  if  I  had  known  where  it  was. 

I  was  soon  at  the  Battery  after  that,  and  there  was  the  man — 
hugging  himself  and  limping  to  and  fro,  as  if  he  had  never  all  night 
left  off  hugging  and  limping — waiting  for  me.  lie  was  awfully 
cold,  to  be  sure.  I  half  expected  to  see  him  dropdown  before  ray 
face  and  die  of  cold.  His  eyes  looked  so  awfully  hungry,  loo. 
that  when  I  handed  him  the  file  it.  occurred  to  me  he  would  have, 
tried  to  eat.  if,  if  he  had  not  seen  my  bundle.  .  He  did  not  turn  me 
upside  down,  this  time,  to  get  at  what  I  had,  but  left  me  right 
side  upward  while  I  opened  the  bundle  and  emptied  mj 

"  What's  in  the  bottle,  boy  ?"  said  he. 

"  Brandy,"  said  I. 

.  He  was  already  handing  mince-meat  down  his  throat  in  the  most 
curious  manner,  more  like  a  man  who  was  putting  it  away  some- 
where in  a  violent  hurry  than  a  man  who  was  eating  it — but  he 
left  off.  to  take  some  of  the  liquor,  shivering  all  the  while  so  vio- 
lently that  it  was  quite  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  keep  the  neck 
of  the  bottle  between  bis  teeth. 

."  1  think  you  have  got  the  ague,"  said  T. 

"  I'm  much  of  your  opinion,  hoy,"  said  he. 

"  It's  bad  about  here.  You've  been  lying  out  oh  the  meshes, 
and  they're  dreadful  aguish.      Rheum:: 

"I'll  eat  my  breakfast  afore  they're  the  death  of  me."  said  he. 
"  I'd  do  that,  if  I  v  to  be  strung  »up  to  that  there  gallows 

as  there  is  over  there  directly  arterward.       I'd  beal  the  shi\> 
far,  /'ll  h'et  you  a  LruiiM- 

lie  was  gobbling  mince-meat,  meat.  bone,  bread,  cheese,  and 
pork-pie  all  al  once  i  staring  distrustfully  while  he  did  so  at  the 
mint  all  roucd  as,  and  ofuu  stopping — even  stopping  b i*  jaw* — 1'> 


16  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

listen.  Some  real  or  fancied  sound,  some  clink  upon  the  river  or 
breathing  of  beast's  upon  the  marsh,  now  gave  him  a  start,- and  he 
said,  suddenly  :     ■  •  ■ 

"  You're  not  -a  false  imp  ?     You  brought  no  one  with  you  ?" 

"No,  sir!     No!" 

"  Nor  give  no  one  the  office  to  follow  you  W 

"No!" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  you.  You'd  be  but  a  fierce  young 
hound,  indeed,  if  at  your  time  of  life  you  could  help  to  hunt  a 
wretched  warminr,  hunted  as  near  death  and  dunghill  as  this  poor 
wretched  warmint  is  !" 

Something  clicked  in  his  throat,  as  if  he  had  works  in  him  like 
a  clock,  and  was  going  to  strike.  And.  he  smeared  his  ragged, 
rough  sleeve  over  his  eyes. 

Pitying  his  desolalion,  and  watching  him  as  he  gradually  settled 
down  upon  the  pie,  I  made  bold  to  say,  "  I  am  glad  you  enjoy  it." 

"  Did  you  speak  ?" 

"  I  said  I  was  glad  you  enjoyed  it." 

"Thankee,  my  boy.     I  do." 

I  had  often  watched  a  large  dog  of  ours  eating  his  food  ;  and  I 
now  noticed  a  decided  similarity  between  the  dog's  way  of  eating 
and  the  man's.  The  man  took  strong,  sharp,  sudden  bites,  just 
like  the  dog.  He  swallowed,  or  rather  snapped  up,  every  mouth- 
ful too  soon  and  fob  fast ;  and  he  looked  sideways  here  and  there 
while  he  ate,  as  if  he  thought  there  was  danger,  of  someb  dy's  com- 
ing to  take  the  pie  away.  He  was  altogether  too  unsettled  in  his 
mind  over  it  to  appreciate  it.  comfortably,  1  thought,  or  to  have 
any  body  to  dine  with  him,  without  making  a  chop  with  his  jaws 
at  the  visitor.  In  all  of  which  particulars  he  was  very  like  the 
dog. 

"  You  won't  leave  any  of  it  for  him,"  said  I,  timidly,  after  a  si- 
lence during  which  I  had  hesitated  as  to  the  politeness  of  making 
the  remark.  "  There's  no  more  to  be  got  where  that  came  from." 
It  was  the  certainty  of  this  fact  that  impelled  me  to  offer  the  hint. 

"  Leave  for  him  ?  Who's  him.1?"  said  my  friend,  stopping  in  his 
crunching  of  pie-crust. 

"  The  young  man.  That  you  spoke  of.  That  was  hid  with 
you." 

"Oh,  ah!"  he  returned,  with  something  like  a  gruff  laugh. 
"  Him  ?     Yes,  yes  !     He  don't  want  no  wittles." 

"  I  thought  he  looked  as  if  be  did,"  said  I. 

The  man  stopped  eating,  and  regarded  me  with  the  closest  scru- 
tiny and  the  greatest  surprise. 

"Looked?    When?" 
"Just  now." 
"  Where  V 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  .  1* 

-"Yonder,"  said  1,  pointing;  "  over  there,  where   I  found  him 
nodding  asleep,  and  thought  it  was  you." 

He  held  me  hy  the  collar  and  stared  at  me  so,  that  I  began  to 
think  his  first  idea  about  cutting  my  throat  had  revived. 

"  Dressed  Use  you,  you   know,  only  with  a  hat,"    I  explained, 
trembling*;  "and — and" — I  was  very  anxious  to  put  it  delic. 
ly — "and  with — the   same   reason  for   wanting  to   borr 
Didn'1  you  hear  the  gun  last  nigh: 

"  Then  there  was  tiring!"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  I  wonder  you  shouldn't  have  been  sure  of  that,"  I  returned, 
"  for  we  heard  it  up  at  home,  and  that's  further  away,  and  we  were% 
shut  in  besides." 

"  Why.  see  now!"  said  he.  "  When  a  man's  alone  on  these 
flats,  with  a  light  head  and  a  light  stomach,  perishin'.  0/  cold  and 
want,  lie  bears  nothiif  all  night,  hut  guns  (irhf,  and  voices  eajlin'. 
Hears  '  He  sees  tile  soldiers  with  their  red  coats,  lighted  ii|>  by 
the  torches  carried  afore,  closin'  in  round  him.  Hears  his  number 
called,  hears  himself  challenged,  hears  the  rattle  of  the  muslTets, 
bears  the  orders.  '  Make  ready  !  Present  ! — Cover  him  steady, 
men  !'  and  is  laid  hands  on,  and  there's  nothing!  Why,  if  1  see 
one  pursuing  party  hist  night — coming  up  in  order,  damn  'em, 
with  their  tramp,  tramp — 1  see  a  hundred.  And  as  to  firin' ! 
Why,  I  see  the' mist  shake  with  the  cannon,  when  it,  was  broad 
day.  Put  this  man." — he  had  said  all  the  rest  as  if  he  had  for-  • 
gotten  my  being  there — "  did- you  notice  any  thing  in  him  ?" 
'Hehad  a  bruised  face,'  said  I,  recallingwhat  Ihardly  knew  I  knew. 

"Xo^.here/"  exclaimed  the  man,  striking  his  left  cheek  with 
the  iiat  of  his  hand. 

"Yes!     There!" 

"  Where  is  he?"  He  crammed  what  little  food  was  left  into 
the  breast  of  his  gray  jacket.  "  Show  me  the  way  he  went.  I'll 
pull  him  down  like  a  bloodhound.  Curse  this  iron  on  my  sore 
leg!      (iive  us  hold  of  the  tile,  boy." 

I  indicated  in  what  direction.  The  mist  had  shrouded'  the 
other  man,  and  he  looked  up  at  it  for  an  instant.  Put  he  was 
down  on  the  rank  wet  grass,  riling  at  his  iron  like  a  madman,  and 
not  minding  me  or  minding  his  own  leg,  which  had  an  old  chafe 
upon  k  ■  blot  ly,  but  which  he  handled  as  roughly  as  if  it 

bad  no  more  feeling  in  it  than  the  tile.     I  was  very  much  afraid  of 
him. again,  now  that- he  had  worked  himself  into  this  tierce  hurry, 
and  1  was  likewise  very  much  afraid  of  keeping  away  from  home-'' 
any  longer.     1  told  him  I  must  go,  but  be  took  no  notice,  so  1 
thought  the  best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  slip  off.     The  last  1 
of  him,  his  bead  was  bent  over  his  knee,  and  he  was  working  I 
at  his  tetter,  muttering  impatient  imprecations  at  it  and  at  his  leg. 
The  last  1  beard  of  him,  I  stopped  iu  the  mist  to  listen,  and 
file  was  still  going. 


13  tfREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


I  kui.lv  expected  to  find  a  constable  in  the  kitchen,  waiting  to 
take  me  up.  But  not  only  was  there  no  constable  there,  but  no 
discovery  had  yet  been  made  of  the  robbery.  Mrs.  Joe  was  pro- 
digiously busy  in  getting  the  house  ready  for  the  U-  T  the 
day,  and  Joe  had  been  put  upon  the  kitchen  door-step1  to  Keep  him 
out  of  the  dust-pan — an  article  into  which  Ins  destiny  always  led 
him  sooner  or  later  when  my  sister  was  vigorously  reaping  the 
floors  of  her  establishment. 

"  And  .where  the  deuce  ha'  you  been?"  was  Mrs.  Joe's  Christ- 
mas*salutation,  when  I  and  my  conscience  showed  oursel 

1  said  I  had  been  down  to  hear  the  Carols.  "  Ah  !  well  !  ob- 
served Mrs.  Joe.  "You  might  ha'  done  worse/'  "  Nol  a  doubt 
of  it,"  I  though!. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  warn't  a  blacksmith's  .wife,  and  the  same 

thing)  a  slave  with  her  apron  never  off,  /should  have  been  to  hear 
the  Carols."  said  Mrs.  Joe.     "I'm  rather  partial  to  Carols  w:: 
and  that's  the  best  of  reasons  for  my  never  hearing  any." 

Joe,  who  had  ventured  into  the  kitchen  after  me  as  the  dust- 
pan retired  before  us,  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  nose 
with  a  conciliatory  air  when  Mrs.  Joe  darted  a  ^ook  at  him,  . 
when  her  eyes  were  withdrawn,  secretly  crossed  his  two  fore- 
fingers, and  exhibited  them  to  me,  as  our  token  that  Mrsj|0oe  was 
in  a  cross  temper.  This  was  so  much  her  normal  state,  rhat  Joe 
and  1  would  often,  for  weeks  together,  be,  as  to  ou  like 

monumental  Crusaders  as  to  their  legs. 

We  were  to  have  a  superb  dinner,  consisting  of  a  leg  of  pickled 
pork,  and  greens,  and  a  pair  of  roast  stuffed  fowls.     A  \ 

e-pie  had  been, made  yesterday  morning  (which  accounted  for 
the  mince-meat  not  being  missed),  and  the  pudding  was  already  ofl 

oil.     These  extensive  arrangements  occasioned  us  to  be 
off  unceremoniously  in  respect  of  breakfast.  "  for  I  a  n't,"  said 
Joe,  "  I  an'r  a  going  to  have  no  cramming  and  gorging  and  v 
ing  up  now,  with  what  I've  got  before  me,  1  promise  you  !** 

So  vrt  had  our  slices  served  out,  as  if  we  were  two  thousand 
troops  on  a  forced  march,  instead  of  a  man  and  boy  at  home  ; . 
we  took  gulps  oi  milk  and  water,  with  apologetic  countenani 
from  a  jug  on  the  dresser.  In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Joe  put  clean 
white  curtains  up,  and  tacked  a  new  flowered  flounce  across  the 
wide  chimney  to  replace  the  old  one,  aud  uncovered  the  little  state 
parlor  jacross  the  passage,  which  was  never  uncovered  at  any 
i her  time,  but  parsed  the  rest  of  the  year  in  a  cool  haze  of  silver 
paper,  wfeieu  even  extended  to  the  four  little  white  ereekery  poo- 


■.'!• 


•  % 

•  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  "      19 

dies  on  ilic  mantle  shelf,  each  with  a  black  nose,  and  a  basket  of 
flowers  in. his  mouth,  and  each  the  counterpart  of  the  other.  Mrs. 
Joe  was  a  very  clean  housekeeper,  but  had  an  exquisite  art  of 
making  her  cleanliness  more  uncomfortable  and  unacceptable  than 
rlirt  itself.  Cleanliness  is  next  to  Godliness,  and  some  people  (do 
the  same  by  their  religion.  W 

sister  having  so  much  to  do,*wae  going  to  church  vicarious-) 
•  loe  and  1  were  gofrip.  In  bis workim.- qlotbes 
Joe  was  a  well-knit.  characterJfcticJooking  blacksmith;  in  Ins 
holiday  clothes,  he  was  more  like  a  scarecrow  in  good  circum- 
stances than  any  thing  else.  Nothing  that  he  wore  then  fitted  him, 
or  seemed  to  belong  to  him,  and  every  thing  that  be,  wore  then 
grazed  htm.  On  the  pre  -cut  festive  occasion  he  emerged  from  his 
room,  when  the  blithe  hells  were  going,  the  picture  of  misery  in  a 
full  suit  of  Sunday  nenitemials.  .itento  me,  I  think  my  sister  must 
have  had  suim  I  idea  that  I  was  a  young  offender  v. 

an  Accoucheur  Policeman  had  taken  up  (on  my  birthday),  an 
livered  o\i  dealt  .with  according  to  the  outr 

majesty  of  the  law.      !  was  always  treated  as  if  I  had  insisted  on 
Jpng  horn  in  opposition  to  the  dictates  of  reason,  relitri on,  and 
mo! -ality.  and  against  the  dissuading  arguments  of  my  best  frie 
even  \djpij  1  was  taken   to   have  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  the  ; 
had  orders  to  make  them  like  a  kind  of  Reformatory,  and  0 
account  to  let  me  have  the  use  of  my  limbs. 

i  and  1  going  to  church,  therefore,  must  have  been  a  moving 
spectacle  for  compassionate  minds.  Yet  what  I  suffered  outside 
was  nothing  to  what  I  underwent  within.  The  terrors  that  had 
assailed  me  whenever  Mrs.  Joe  had  gone  near  the  pantry  or  out 
of  the  room,  were  only  to  be  equaled  by  the  remorse  with'  which 

iind  dwelt,  on  what,  my  hands  had  done.  Under  the  weight 
of  my  wicked  secret  I  pondered  whether  the  Church  would  be 
powerful  e.nougb  to  shield  me  from  I  he  vengeance  of  the  terrible 
young  man.  if  I  divulged  it  to  that  establishment.  I  conceived 
the  idea  thai  the  time  when  the  bans  were  read  and  when  the 

\  man  said,  "  Ye  are  now  to  declare  it  !"  would  be  the  time 
for  me  to  rise  and  propose  a  private  audience  in  the  vestry.  1  am 
far  from  being  q.uite  sure  that  I  'might  not  have  astonished  our 
small  congregation  by  resorting  to  this  extreme  measure,  but  for 
its  being  Christmas  Day  and  ml  Sunday. 

Mr.  Wopsle,  the  clerk  at  church,  was  to  dine  with  us ;  and  Mr. 
Hubble,  the  wheel-wright,  and  Mrs.  Hubble  ;  and  Uncle  Pumble- 
chook  (Joe's  une'e,  but  Mrs.  Joe  appropriated. him),  who  was  a 
well-to-do  corn-chandler  in  .the  nearest  town,  and  drove  his  own 
chaise-cart.  The  dbmer  hour  was  half-past  one.  When  Joe  and 
home,  we  found  the  table  laid,  and  Mrs.  Joe  dressed,  and 
the  dinner  dressing,  and  the  front  door  >n 


m 

aO  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

any  other  time)  for  the  company  to  enter  hy,  and  every  thing  most    I 
splendid.     And  still,  not  a  word  of  the  robbery. 

.The  time  came  without  bringing  with  it  any  relief  to  my  feel- 
ings, and  the  company  came.  Mr.  Wopsle,  united  to  a  Roman, 
nose  and  a  large  bald  forehead,  had  a  deep  sonorous  voice  whicK 
he  was  proud  of;  indeed  it  was  understood  among  his  acquaint*^ 
ance  that  if  you  could  only  give  him  his  head  he  would  read  the 
clergyman  into  fits;  he  himpefr  confessed  that  if  the  Church  was 
"thrown  open,"  meaning  to  competition,  he  would  not  despair  of 
making  his  mark  in  it.  The  Church  not  being  "  thrown  open,"  he 
was,  as  I  have  said,  our  clerk.  But  he  finished  the  Amens  tre- 
mendously ;  and  when  he  gave  out  the  psalm — always  giving  us 
the  whole -verse — he  looked  all  round  the  congregation  first,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  You  have  heard  my  friend  overhead  ;  oblige  Hie 
with  your  opinion  of  this  !" 

I  opened  the  door  to  the  .company — making* believe  that  it  was 
a  habit  of  ours  to  open  that  door — and  1  opened  it   first  to  Mr. 
Wopsle,  next  to  Mr.  and   Mrs.  Hubble,  and   lasf  of  all  to  Uncle    . 
Pumblechook.      N.  B.  I  was  not  allowed  to  call  him  uncle  under 
the  severest  penalties.  I 

"Mrs.  Joe,"  said  Uncle  Pumblechook,  who  was  a  large,  hard-  • 
breathing,  midde-aged,  slow  in  n,  with  a  mouth  like  ajHp,  dull 
sfaring  eyes,  and  sandy  hair  standing  upright  on  his  heaay so  that 
he  looked  as  if  he  had  just  been  choked,  and  had  that  very  mo- 
ment come  to,  "I  have  brought  you,  as  the  compliments  of  the 
season — I  have  brought  you,  Mum,  a  bottle  of  sherry  wine,  and  I 
have  brought  you,  Mum,  a  bottle  of  port  wine." 

Every  Christmas  Day  he  presented  himself,  as  a  profound  nov-  | 
elty,  with  exactly  the  same  words,  and  carrying  the  two  bottles 
like  dumb-bells.  Every  Christmas  Day,  Mrs.  Joe  replied,  as  sbjj 
now  replied,  "  Oh,  Un— cle  Pum— ble— chook  !  This  is  kindr 
Every  Christmas  Day,  he  retorted,  as  he  now  retorted,  "  D's  no 
more  than  your  merits.  And  how  are  you  all — bobbish  ?  And 
how's  Sixpennorth  of  half  pence  '?"  meaning  me. 

We  dined  on  these  occasions  in  the  kitchen,  and  adjourned,  for 
the  nuts  and  oranges  and  apples,  to  the  parlor :  which  was  a 
change  very  like  Joe's  change  from  his  working  clothes  to  his 
Sunday's  dress.  My  sister  was  uncommonly  lively  on  the  present 
occasion,  and  indeed  was  generally  more  gracious  in  the  society 
of  Mrs.  Hubble  than  in  any  other  company.  I  remember  .Mrs. 
Hubble  as  a  little,  sharp-eared  person  in  curly  sky-blue,  who  held 
a  conventionally  juvenile  position,  because  she  had  married  Mr. 
Hubb.e — I  don't  know  at  what  remote  period — when  she  was 
much  younger  than  he.  I  remember  Mr.  Hubble  as  a  tough, 
high-shouldered,  stooping  old  man,  of  a  saw-dusty  fragrance,  with 
his  legs  extraordinarily  wide  apart,  so  that  in  my  short  and  early 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  51 

I 

days  I  always  saw  some  miles  of  open  country  between  them 
when   I  met  him  coming .up  the  lane.  % 

Among  this  good  company  I  should  have  felt  myself,  even  if  I 

•  hadn't  robbed  the  pantry,  in  a  false  position.  Not  because  I  was 
squeezed  in  at  an  acute  angle  of  the  table-cloth -with  the  table  in 
my  chest,  and  the  Pumhlechookian  elbow  in  my  eye;  not  because 
I  was  not  allowed  to  speak  (I  didn't  want  to  speak),  nor  because 
I  was  regaled  with  the  scaly  tips  of  the  drumsticks  of  the  fowls, 
an'd  with  those  corners  of  obscure  pork  of  which  th$.pig,  when  liv- 
ing, had  the  least  reason  to  he  vain.     No  ;   I  should  not  have  mind- 

„ed  that,  if  they  would  only  have  left  me  alone.  But  they  wouldn't 
leave  me  alone.  They  seemed  to  think  the  opportunity  lost,  if 
they  failed  to  point  the  conversation  at  me  every  now  and  then, 
and  stick  the  point  into  me.  I  might  have  been  an  unfortunate 
little  bull  in  a  .Spanish  arena:  I  got  so  smartingly  touched  on  by 
these  moral  goads. 

It  began  the  moment  we  sat  down  to  dinner.  Mr.  Wbpsle  said 
grace  with  theatrical  declamation,  as  it  now  appears  to  me,  some- 

•  Vhing  'ike  a  religious  cross  of  the  Hhost  in  Hamlet  with  Richard 
t^e  Third — and  ended  with  the  very  proper  aspiration  that  we 
might  be  truly  grateful.  Upon  which  my  sister  instantly  fixed 
me  with  her  eve,  and  said,  in  a  low,  reproachful  voice,  "  Do  you 
hear  that  ?     Be  grateful." 

"Especially,"  said  Mr.  Pumblochook,  "be  grateful,  boy,  to  them 
which  brought  you  up  by  hand." 

Mrs.  Hubble  shook  her  head,  and  contemplating  me  with  a  mourn- 
ful presentiment  that  1  should  come  to  no  good,  asked,  "  Why  is  it 
that  the  young  are  never  grateful?"  This  mystery  seemed  too 
much  for  the  company  until  Mr.  Hubble  tersely  solved  it  by  saying, 
"  Naturally  wicious."  Everybody  then  murmured  "  Ah  !  "  and 
"  True  I"  arid  looked  at  me  in  a  'particularly  unpleasant  and  per- 
sonal manner. 

Joe's  station  and  influence  were  something  feebler  (if  possible) 
when  there  was  company  than -when  there  was  none.  But  he 
always  aided  and  abetted  when  he  could,  in  some  way  of  his  own, 
and  he  always  did  so  at  dinner-time  by  giving  me  gravy,  if  there 
were  any.  There  being  plenty  of  gravy  to-day,  Joe  spooned  into 
my  plate,  at  this  point,  about  half-a-pir.t. 

A  little  later  on  in  the  dinner,  Mr.  Wopsle  reviewed  the  sermon 
,  with  sonic  severity,  and  intifhated  in  the  usual  hypothetical  case 
of  the  Church  being  "thrown  open,"  what  kind  of  sermon  he 
would  have  given  them.  After  favoring  them  with  some  heads 
of  that  discourse,  he  remarked  that  he  considered  the  subject  of 
the  day's  homily  ill  chosen  ;  which  was  the  less  excusable,  he 
added,  when  there  were  so  many  subjects  "going  about." 

"True  again,"  said  Uncle  I'umhlecho  >k.  "You've  hit  it — 
plenty  of  subjects  going  about,  for  them  that  know  how  to  put 


oo  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

salt  upon  their  tails.     That's  what's  wanted.  .  A  man  needn't,  go 
far  to 'find  a  subject  if  he's  ready  with  his  salt  box.     Why,"  added 
Mr.  Puniblechook,  after  a  short  interval  of  deep  reflection,  "look 
at  Pork  alone.    There's  a  subject!     If  von  want   a  sub  ect,  look  . 
at  Pork  !  "       • 

'"  True,  Sir.    Many  a  moral  for  the  youngvj'  returned  Mr.  Wopsle ;  ■ 
and  I  knew  he  was  going  to  bring  me  in  before  be  si  id  it,  "might 
be  deducted  from  that  text." 

("You  listen  to  this,"  said  my  sister  to  me,  in  a  seven'  parou- 
thesis.) 

Joe  gave  me  some  more  gravy. 

,"  Swine,"  pursued  Mr.  Wopsle. -in  bis  deepest  voice,  ai 
rng  his  fork  at  my  blushes  as  if  he  were  mentioning  my  ( 'hristian 
name — "  Swine  were  the  companions -of  the  prodigal.     The  glut 
tony  of  swine  is  set  before  us  as  an  example  to  the  young."     (1 
thought  this  pretty  well  in  him  who  had  bet:  I  the 

pork  for  being  so  plump  anfflPfcx-y.)     "  What  is  detestable  in  a 
pig  is  more  detestable  in  a  Boy." 

"Or  girl,"  suggested  Mr.  Bubble. 

"Of  course,  or  girl,"  assented  Mr.  Wopsle,  nil  her  irritably"; 
"  but  there  is  no  girl  present/' 

"Besides."  said  Mr.  Pumbleohook,  turning  sharp  on  me,  '^fhink 
what  you've  got  to  be  grateful  for,    If  een  'com  a  squeak- 

er—-1"   - 

"  He  was,  if  ever  a  child  was,"  said  nay  si  emphatically. 

Joe  gave  me  some  more  gravy. 

-■  Wj'll,  but  1  mean  a  four-footed  squeaker."  said  Mr.  Pumbje- 
chook.  "If  you  had  been  born  such,  would  you  have  been  here 
now  '.     Xot  you — " 

nless  in  that  form,"  said  Mr.  Wopsle,  nodding  toward  the 
dish. 

"But  I  don't  mean  in  that  form,  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  1'umble- 
chojok,  who  had  an  objection  to  being  interrupted  :  "  1  mean  en- 
joying himself  with  his  elders  and  betters,  and  improving  himself 
with  their  conversation,  and  rolling  in  the  lap  of  luxury.  Would 
he  have  been  doing  that?  Xo,  he  wouldn't.  And  what  would 
have  been  your  destination  ?  "  turning  on  me  again.  "  You  would 
have  been  disposed  of  for  so  many  shillings,  according  to  the  mar- 
ket, price  of  the  article,  and  Dunstable,  the  butcher,  would  1 
come  up  to  you  as  you  lay  in  your«straw,  and  he  would  i 
whipped  you  under  his  left  arm,  and  with"  his  right  he  would  have 
tucked  up  his  frock  to  get  a  penknife  from  out  of  his  waistcoat- 
pocket,  and  he  would  have  shed  your  blood  and  had  your  life.  No 
bringing  up  by  hand  then.     Not  a  bit  of  it!" 

Joe  offered  me  more  gravy,  which  I  was  afraid  to  take. 

"He  was  a  world  of  trouble  to  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Hubble, 
commiserating  my  sister. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  23 

"  Trouble  ?  "  echoed-  h>y  sister  ;  "  trouble  I  "  And  then  entered 
on  a  fearful  catalogue  of  all  the  illnesses  I  had  been  guilty  of, 
and  all  the  acts  of  sleeplessness  I  had  committed,  and  ail 
high  places  1  had  tumbled  from,  and  all  the  low  places  I  bid 
tumbled  into,  and  all  the  injuries  I  had  done  myself,  and  all  the 
times  she  had  wished  me  in  my  grave,  and  I  bad  contumaciously  v, 
refused  to  go  there. 

I  think  the  Romans  must  have  aggravated  one  another  very 
much  with  their  noses.  '  Perhaps  they  became  the  restless  people 
were  in  consequence.  Anyhow,  Mr.  Wopsle's  Roman  nofe 
so  aggravated  me,  during  the  recital  of  my  misdemeanors,  that  i 
should  have  liked  to  pull  it  until  he  howled.  But  all  I  had  en- 
dured up  to  ibis  time  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  aw-  , 
fnl  feeling  that  took  possession  of  me  when  the  pause  was  broken 
which  ensued  upon  my  sister's  recital,  and  in  which  pause  every- 
body had  looked  at  me  (as  1  felt  deeply  conscious)  with  indignation 
•and  abhorrence. 

"  Yet,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  leading  the  company  gently  back 
to  the  theme  from  which  hey  had  strayed,  "  Pork — regarded  as 
hiled — is  rich,  too;  ain't  it  ?" 

".Have  a  Mule  brandy,  uncle,"  said  my  sister.  > 

(),  Heavens,  i;  had  come  at  last  !  lie  would  find  it  was  weak. 
he  would  say  it  was  weak,  and  I  was  lost!     I  held  tight  to 

if  the  table  with  both  hands,  and  awaiied  my  fi 
0&ly  sister  went  for  ihe  stone  bottle,  came  back  with  the  stone 
,  and  poured  Jiis  brandy  out,  no'tme  else  taking  any.  The 
wretched  man  triflpd  with  his  glass — took  it  up,  looked  at  it 
through  the  light,  put,  it  down — prolonged  my  misery.  All  this 
Mrs!  Joe  and  .Joe  were  busily  clearing  the  table  i'ov  Ihe  pie 
and  pudding.  .  i 

I  couldn't  keep  hi  ■;'  him.     Always  holding  tight  by  the 

leg  of  the  table  with  my  hands  and  feel,  I  saw  the  miserable  crea- 
ture linger  his  glass  playfully,  take  it  up,  smile,  throw  his  head 
back,  and  drink  the  brandy  off.  Instantly  afterward  the  company 
were  seized  with  unspeakable  consternation,  owing  to  his  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  turning  round  several  times 'in  an  appalling  spas- 
modic, hooping-cough  dance,  and  rushing  out  at  the  door;  he  then 
became  visible  through  the  window,  violently  stamping  and  ex- 
pectorating, making  the  most,  hideous  faces,  and  apparently*  out 
of  his  mind. 

I  held  on  tight,  wnile  Mrs.  Joe  and  Joe  ran  to  him.  I  didn't, 
know  how  I  had  done  it,  but  I  had  no  doubt  I  had  murdered  him 
somehow.  In  my  dreadful  situation  it  was  a  relief  when  he  was 
brought  back,  and  surveying  the  company  all  round,  as  if  they 
had  .disagreed  with  him,  sank  down  into  his  chair  with  the  one 
significant  gasp,  "  Tar  !  " 

I  had  filled  up  the  bottle  from  the  tar-water  jug.     I  kneW  ha 


24  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.    . 

would  be  worse  by-and-by.    I  moved  tbe  table,  like  a  Medium  of 
the  present  day,  by  the  vigor  of  my  unseen  grasp  upon  it, 

"  Tar  !"  cried  my  sister  in  amazement.  "Why,  how  ever  could 
it  come  there  1" 

But  Uncle  Pumblechook,  who  was  omnipotent  in  that  kitchen, 
wouldn't  hear  the  word,  wouldn't  hear  the  subject  mentioned,  im- 
periously waved  it  all  away  with  his  hand,  and  asked  for  hot  gin 
and  water.  My  sister,  who  had  begun  to  be  alarmingly  medita- 
tive, had  to  employ  herself  actively  in  getfirig  the  gin,  the  hot 
water,  the  sugar,  and  the  lemon-peel,  and  mixing  them.  For  the 
time,  at. least,  I  was  saved.  I  still  held  on  the  leg  of  the  table, 
but  clutched  it  now  with  the  fervor  of  gratitude. 

By  ^degrees  I  became  calm  enough  to  release  my  grasp  and 
partake  of  pudding.  Mr.  Pumblechook  partook  of  pudding.  All 
partook  of  pudding.  The  course  terminated,  and  Mr  Pumblechook 
had  begun  to  beam  under  the  genial  influence  of  the  gin  and  wa- 
t-r.  I  began  to  think  I  should  get  over  the  day  when  my  sis- 
ter said  to  Joe,  "Clear  plates — cold." 

I  clutched  the  leg  of  the  table  again  immediately,  and  pressed 
it  to  my  bosom  as  if  it  had  been  the  companion  of  my  youth 
and- friend  of  my  soul.  I  foresaw  what  was  coming,  and  I  felt 
that  this  time  I  really  was  gone. 

"You  must  taste,"  said  my  sister,  addressing  the  guests  with 
her  best  grace,  "you  must  really  taste,  to  finish  with,  such  a  de- 
lightful and  delicious  present  of  Uncle-Pumblechtiok's !" 

Must  they  !     Let  them  not  hope  it ! 

"  You  must  know,"  said  my  sister,  rising  |  ie — a  savory 

pork-pie." 

The  company  murmured  their  compliments  ;  and  Uncle  Pum- 
blechook, sensible  of  having  deserved  well  of  his  fellow-creatures, 
and  having  distinguished  himself  by  his  gift,  said,  vivaciously, 
all  things  considered,  "  Well,  Mrs.  Joe,  we'll  do  our  best  endeavors ; 
let  us  have  a  cut  at  this  same  pie." 

My  sister  went  out  to  get  it.  I  heard  her  steps  proceed  to  the 
pantry..  I  saw  Mr.  Pumblechook  balance  his  knife.  I  saw  re- 
awakening appetite  in  the  Roman  nostrils  of  Mr.  Wopsle.  I  heard 
Mr.  Hubble  remark  that  "  a  bit  of  savory  pork-pie  would  lay  a-top 
of  any  thing  and  do  no  harm,"  and  I  heard  Joe  say,  "  You  shall 
have  some  Pip."  I  have  never  been  absolutely  certain  whether 
I  uttered  a  shrill  cry  of  terror"  merely  in  spirit,  or  in  tha  bodily 
hearing  of  the  company.  I  felt  that  I  could  hear  no  more,  and 
that  I  must  run  away.  I  released  the  leg  of  the  table,  and  ran 
for  my  life. 

But  I  ran  no  further  than  the  house  door,  for  there  I  ran  head 
foremost  into  a  party  of  soldiers  with  their  muskets,  one  of  whom 
held  out  a  pair  of  handcuffs  to  me,  saying,  "  Here  you  are,  look 
sharp,  come  on  !" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  25 


CHAPTER  V. 

Thk  apparition  of  a  file  of  soldiers  ringing  down  the  butt  end 
of  their  loaded  muskets  mi  our  doorstep  Caused  the  dinner-party 
to  rise  from  table  confused,  and  caused  Mrs.  Joe  re-entering  the 
kitchen  empty-handed,  to  stop  short  and  sta-e.  after  her  first  won- 
dering lament  of  ""Lord  gracious,  what's  gone  with  the  pie!" 

The  sergeant  and    1    were  in  the  kitchen   when  Mrs.  .Joe  stood 

staring;  at  which  crisis  I  partly  recovered  the  use  of  my  senses. 

It  was  the  sergeant  who  had  spoken  to  me.  and  he  was  lmwJook- 

,  ing  round  at  the  company,,  with  his  handcuffs  invitingly  exfnided 

toward  them  in  his  right  hand,  and  his  left  on  my  shoulder. 

"Excuse    me,  ladies  and  gentlemen."   said  the  sergeant,  "but 
as  I  have  mentioned  at  the  door  to  this  ymmg  shaver,  (which   he 
hadn't)  I  am  on  a  chase  for  the  king,  and  I  want  the  blacksmith  " 
\nd  pray  wliat  might   you  want  with  hint?"  retorted  my  sis- 
ter, quick  to  resent  his  being  wanted  at  all. 

lissus,"  returned  the  gallant  sergeant,  "speaking  for  myself. 
I  should  reply,  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  his  wjfe's  acquaintance; 
speaking  for  the  King,  1  answer  a  little  job  done." 

This  was  received' as  rather  neat  in  the  sergeant  ;  insomuch 
that  Mr.  Pumbtechook  cried  audibly,  "  Good  again  !" 

"  You  see.  blacksmith,"  said  the  sergeant,  who  had  by  this  time 
picked  out  doe  with  his  eye',  "we  have  had  an  accident  with 
these,  and  find  the  lock  of  one  of  'em  goes  wrong,  and  the  coup- 
ling don't  act  pretty.  As  they  are  wanted  for  immediate  service, 
will  yon  throw  your  eye  over  them  .'" 

Joe  threw  his  eye^ver  them,  and  pronounced  that  the  job  would 
necessitate  the  lighting  of  his  forge  fire,  and  would  take  nearer 
two  hours  than  one.  "  Then  will  yon  set  about  it  at  once,  black- 
smith," said  the  sergeant,  "as  it's  on  his  Majes  y's  service;  and 
if  my  men  can  bear  a  hand  any  where,  they'll  make  themselves 
useful."  With  that  he  called  to  hisunen,  j^ho  came  trooping  into 
the  kitchen  one  after  another,  and  filled  their  arm*  in  a  Corner. 
.lure  they  stood  about  as  soldiers  do;  now.  with  their  hands 
loosely  clasped  before  them;  now.  resling  a  knee  or  a  shoulder  ; 
now.  easing  a  belt  or  a  pouch  ;  now,  opening  the  door  to  suit  stiff- 
ly over  their  high  stocks  out  into  the  yard. 

All  these  things  I  saw  without  knowing  that  1  saw  them,  for  I 
was  in  mortal  terror.  But,  beginning, to  perceive  that  the  hand- 
cuffs were  not  for  me,  and  that  the  military  had  so  far  got  the  bel- 
ter of  the  pie  as  to  put  it  in  the  hack  ground  for  the  moment.  I 
collected  a  little  more  of  my  scattered  wits. 

"  Would  you  give  me  the  time  ?"  said  t  nt,  addressing 


26  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

himself  to  Mr.  Ptfmblechopk,  as  a  man  whose  appreciative  powers 
justified  the  inference  that,  lie  was  equal  to  the  time. 

"  It's  just  gone  half-past  two  " 

"That's  not  so  had,"  said  the  sergeant,  reflecting ;  "even  if 
I  were  forced  to  halt  here  nigh  two  hours,  that'll  do.  How  far 
might  you  call  yourselves  from  the  marshes  hero  ?  Not  above  a 
mile,  I  reckon  ?" 

"Just  a  mile,"  said  Mrs.  Joe. 

"That'll  do.  We  begin  to  close  in  upon  'em  about  dusk.  A 
little  before  dusk,  my  orders  are.     That'll  do." 

"  Convicts,  sergeunt  ?"  said  .Mr.  Wopsle?  in  a  matter-of-course 
way. 

"Aa7!"  returned  the  sergeant,  "two.  They're  pretty  well 
knowu  to  be  out  on  the  marshes  still, .and  they  won't  try  to  get 
clear  of 'em  before  dusk.  Any  body  here  seen  any  thing  of  any 
such  game  ?" 

Every  body,  myself  .excepted,  said  no,  with  confidence.  No- 
body thought  of  me. 

"Weil!"  said  the  sergeant,  "they'll  find  themselves  trapped' 
in  a  circle,  I  expect,  sooner  than  they  count  on.  Now,  blacksmith  ! 
If  you're  ready,  the  King  is." 

Joe  had  gut  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and  cravat  off,  and  his  leath- 
er apron  on,  and  passed  into  the  i'cv:j;v.  One  of  the  soldiers  open- 
ed its  wooden  windows,  another  lighted  the  lire,  another  turned  to 
at  the  bellows,  the  rest  stood  round  the  blaze,  which  was  soon 
roaring.  Then  Joe  began  to  hammer  and  clink",  hammer. and 
clink',  and  ul!  looked  on. 

erest  of  the  impending  pursuit  not  only  absorbed  the 
general  attention,  but  even  made  my  sister  generous.  She  drew 
a  pitcher  of  beer  from  the  cask  for  the  soldiers,  and  invited  the 
sergeant  to  take  a  glass  of  brandy.  But  Mr.' Pumblechook  said, 
sharply,  "Give  him  wine.  mum.     1';  •  there's  no  Tar  in 

that;"  so  the  sergeant  thanked  him'  and  s;  .  s  he.  preferred 

his  drink  without  tar,  he  would-fake  wine,  if  if  was  equally  con- 
venient. When  it  was  given  "him  tie  drank  his  Majesty's  health 
and  Compliments  of  smi,  and  took  it  all  at  a  mouthful  and 

smacked  his  lips. 

"  Good  stuff,  eh,  sergeant  I"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook. 
"I'll  tell  you  something,"  returned  the  sergeant;  "  I  suspect 
that-stuff  's  of  your  providing." 

Mr.  Pumblechook,  with  "a  fat  sort  of  laugfe,  said,  •'  Av,  ay? 

Why?"  "      3 

"  Because,"  returned  the  Sergeant,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder, 
"you're  a  man  that  knows  what's. what." 

"D'ye   think   so?"    said  Mr.    Pumblechook,  with   his  former 
laugh.     "  Have  another  glass." 
-"With   you.     Hob  and   nob."   returned  the  sergeant.     "The 


Great  expectation  2? 

top  of  mine  to  the  foot  of  yours,  the  foot,  of  yours  to  the  fop  of 
mine.     Ring  once,  ring  twice,  the  best  tune  on  the  Musical  Glass- 
es !      Your  liea  tli.     May  you  live  a  thousand  years,  and  never  he 
a  worse  judge  of  the  right  sort,  than  at  the  present  moan 
your  life  !" 
•     ,  The  sergeant  tossed  off  hjs  glass  again  and  seemed  quite  ready 
for  mine.     I  poticed  that  Mr.  Puuiblechook  in  Ids  hospitality  ap- 
peared to  forget  that  he  had  made  a  present  of  the  wine,  bul  took 
the  bottle  from  Mrs.  Joe  and  had  .all  the  credit  of  handing  it  about 
•in  a  gush  of  jovia  ity.     Even  I  got  some.     And   he  was  so  very 
fwe  of  the  wine  that  he  even  called  for  the  Other  bottle,  and  haml- 
-    ed  that  about  with  the  same  liberality  when  the  first,  was  gone. 
As   \   watched  them  while  they  all  stood  clustered  about  the 
forge  enjoying  themselves  so  much,  I  thought  what  terrible 
sauce  for  a  dinner  my  fugitive  friend  in  the  marshes  was.     They 
,      had    not  enjoyed   thenlsetves  a  quarter  so  much  before  the  enter- 
►    tainment  was  brightened  with  the  excitement  he  furnished.     And 
now,  when  they  were  all  in  lively  expectation  of  those  two  vi 
'being  taken,  and  when   the  bellows  seemed   to  roar  for  them,  the 
fire  to  flare  for  them,  the  smoke  to  hurry  out  in  pursuit    of  them, 
Joje  to  hammer  and  clink  for  them,  and  all  the  murky  shadows  on 
the   wall   to  stare  at    them  in    i   enace  as  the  blaze  rose  and  sank, 
and  the  red-hot   sparks  dropped  and  died,  the  pale  afternoon  out- 
side almost  seemed,   in  my  pitying  young  fancy,  to  have  turned 
on  their  account,  poor  wre.tcl 
At   last.  b  was  done,  and  til  and  roaring  slop- 

ped.    As  Joe  got  on  his  coat,  he  mustered  .courage  to  pru 
that  some  of  us  shoftld  go  down  with  the  soldiers  and  .see  what 
came  of  the  hunt.     Mr.  Pmnblechook  and  Mr.  Hubble  declined, 
on  t  -a  pipe  and  ladies'  society  ;  btit  Mr.  Wopsle  said  he 

would  go  if  .loo  tfonld.  .Joe  said  he  was  agreeable,  and  he  would 
take  me,  if  Mrs',  doe  approved.  We  never  should  have  got  leave 
0,  I  am  sure,  but  for  Mrs.  Joe's  curiosity  to  know  a.l  about  it 
and  how  it  ended.  "^s  it  was,  she  merely  stipulated,  "  If  you 
briug  the  boy  back  with  his  head  blown  off  by  a  musket,  don't  say 
it  was  my  doing." 

The  sergeant  took  a  polite  leave  of  the  ladies,  and  parted  fi 
Mr.   Pumhlechook   as   from  a  comrade:    though   1   doubled 
Were  qujte  as  fully  sensible  of  tl  'nan's  merits  under  arid 

conditions  as  when  something  to  drink  was  going.     His  me 
sumed  their  muskets  and  fell  in.     Ml*.  Wop  and  I,  received 

strict  charge  to  keep  in   the  rear,  and  to  speak  no  word  after  wo 

11  out  iu  tiie  raw  air  and 
lily  moving  toward  our  business;  I  treasonably  whispered  to 
Joe,  "  1  hope,  Joe,  we  shan't  find  them  ;"  ami  Joe  whispered  tome, 
"  I'd  give  a  shillii  and  run,  Pip." 

We  were  joi,:  rs   from   our  village,  for 


28  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ther  was  cold  and  threatening,  the  way  dreary,  the  footing  bad, 
dusk  Doming  on,  ami  the  people  had  good  fires  iu-doors  and  were 
'  keeping  the  day.  A  few  faces  hurried  to  glowing  windows  and 
looked  after  us,  but  none  came  out.  We  passed  the  finger-post,  and 
held  straight  on  to  the  church-yard.  There  we  were  stopped  a 
few  minutes  by  a  signal  from  the  sergeant's  hand,  while  two  or 
three  of  his  men  dispersed  themselves  among  the.  graves,  and 
examined  the  porch.  They  came  in  again  without  finding  any- 
thing, and  then  we  struck  out  ^n  the  open  marshes,  through  the 
gate  at  the  side. of  the  church-yard.  A  hitter  sleet  came  rattling 
against  us  on  the  east  wind,  and  Joe  took  me  on  his  back. 

Now  that  we  were  out  upon  the  dismal  wilderness  where  they 
little  thought  I  had  been  within  eight  or  nine  hours,  and  had 
seen  both  men  hiding,  I  considered,  tor  the  first  time,  with  great 
dread,  if  we  Should  come  upon  them,  would  my  particular  con- 
vict suppose  that  it  was  I  who  had  brought  the  soldiers  there? 
He  had  asked  me  if  1  was  a  deceiving  imp,  and  he  had  said  1 
should  be  a  fierce  young  hound  if  I  joined  the  huut  against  him. 
Would  he  believe  that  I  was  both  imp  and  hound  in  treacherous 
earnest,  and  had  betrayed  him  I 

It  was  of  no  use  asking  myself  this  question  now.  .  There  I 
was,  on  Joe's  back,  and  there  was  Joe  beneath  me,  charging  out  the 
ditches  in  the  nimblest  manner,  and  stimulating  Mr.  Wopsle  not 
to  tumble  on  his  Roman  nose,  and  to  keep  up  with  us.  The  sol- 
diers were  in  front  of  us  extended  into  a  pretty  wide  line  with, 
an  interval  between  man  and'  man.  We  were  taking  the  exact 
course  I  had  begun-with,  and  from  which  1  had  diverged  in  the 
Either  the  mist  was  not  out  again  yet,  or  the  wind  had 
moved  it.  Under  the  low  red  glare  of  sunset  the  beacon*  and 
the  gibbet,  and  the  mound  of  the  battery,  and  the  opposite  sin. re 
of  the  river,  were  plain  enough,  though  all  of. a  watery  lead 
color. 

With  my  heart thumpinglike almall  blacksmid^it  Joe's  broad  shoul- 
der, 1  looked  all  about  for  any  sign  of  the  convicts.  1  could  see  none. 
I  could  hear  none.  Mr.  Wopsle  had  great  ly  alarmed  me  more  than  oace> 
by  his  blowing  and  hard  breathing;  but  I  knew  the  soumi 
•  ibis  time!  and  could  dissociate  Them  from  the  object  of  pursuit. 
I  got  a  dreadful  start,  and'  thought  I  heard  the  file  still  going; 
but  it  was  only  a  sheep-bell.  The  sheep  stopped  in  their  eating 
and  looked  timidly  at  us  ;  and  the  cattle,  their  heads  turned  from 
the  wind  and  sleet,  stared  angrily,  as  if  they  held  us  responsible 
for  both  these  annoyances:  but,  except  these  things,  and  the 
shudder  of  the  whole  dying  day,  there  was  no  break  in  the  uni- 
form, stillness  of  the  marshes. 

The  soldiers  were  moving  ion  in  the  direction  of  the  old  bat- 
tery, and  we  were  moving  on  a  little  way  behind  them,  when,  all 
of  a  sudden,  we  all  stopped.     For  there  had  reached  us,  on  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  29 

wings  of  the  wind  and  rain,  a  lung  shout.  It  was  repeated.  It 
•was  at  a  distance  toward  the  east,  but  it  was  lohg  and  loud! — 
Xay,  there  seemed  bo  be  two  shouts  raised  together — it'  one  might 
judge  from  a  confusion  in  the  sound. 

To  this  effect  the  sergeant  and  the  nearest  men  were  speaking 
under  their  breath  when  Joe  and  J  came  up.  After  another  mo- 
ment's listening,  .Joe  (who  was  a  good  judge)  agreed,  and  Mr. 
Wdpsle  (who  was  a  had  judge)  also  agreed,  The  seTgeant,  a 
quick,  decisive  man,  ordered  that  the  sound  should  not  be  an- 
swered, but  that  the  course  should  be  changed;  and  that  his  men 
should  make  toward  id  "at  the  double."  bo  we  slanted  to  the 
right  (where  the  East  was),  and  doe  pounded  away  so  wonderfully 
that  I  had  to  hold. on  tight  to  keep  my  seat. 

It  was  a  run  indeed  now,  and  what  Joe  called,  in  the  only  two 
words  he  spoke  all  the  Dime,  "a  buster."  Down  banks  and  up 
banks,  and  over  gates  and  splashing  into  dikes:  no  man  cared 
where  he  went.  As  we  came  nearer  to  the  shouting,  it  became 
more  and  more  apparent  that  it  was  made  by  more.than  one  voice. 
.Sometimes  it  seemed  to  stop  altogether,  and  then  the  soldiers 
stopped.  When  it  broke  out  again  the  soldiers  made  tor  it  at  a 
greater  rate  than  ever,  and  we  after  them.  After  a  while  we  had 
so  run  it  down  that  we  could  hear  one  voice  calling  "  Murder!" 
'and  another  voice.  "Convicts!  Runaways!  Guard!  guard! — 
This  way  for  the  runaway  convicts!"  Then  both  •voices  would 
seem  to  he  stitled  in  a  struggle,  and  then  would  break  out  again. 
And  when  it  had  come  to  this  the  soldiers  ran  like  deer,  and  doe 
too. 

The  sergeant  ran  in  first,  when   we   had  run     he    noise   quite 
down,  and  two  of  his  men  ran  in  close  upon  him.     Their  pi 
were  cocked  and  leveled  when  we  all  ran  in. 

"Here  are  lots  more!"  panted  the  sergeant,  struggling  with 
something  at  the  bottom  of  adityh.  ."  (Surrender,  you  two!  and 
confound  you  tor  two  wild  beasts  !     Come  asunder!  " 

Water  was  splashing,  and  mud  was  splashing,  and  oaths  were 
being  sworn,  and  blows  were  being  struck,  when  half  a  dozen  more 
men  went  down  into  the  ditch  to  help  the  sergeant,  and  drij 
out,  separately,  my  convict  and  the  other  one.  Bo.th  were  bleed- 
ing and  panting  and  execrating  and  struggling;  but  of  course  I 
knew  them  both  directly. 

'■  Mind  !"  said  my  convict,  wiping  blood   from  his  face,  with  his 
ed  sleeves,  and  shaking  torn  hair  from  his  lingers  ;  "1  took  him  ! 
/give  him  up  to  you  !     Mind  that  !" 

"  It's  not  nn  ular-aiiom  !'"  saictythe  sergeant,  cooly  ; 

"  It'll  do  vou  sinttll  good/my  man,  being  in  the  same  plight  j 
self,     ii  there!" 

"  I  don't  expect  ii  tu  do  me  any  good.  1  don't  wan't  it  to  do 
wi«  nittrtt  good  than  it  does  now7,"  said  uiy  convict  with  a  terri 


30  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Me   laugh.      '.'  I   took  him.      He  knows  it.      That's  enough  for 

nip.'' 

The  other  convict  was  livid  to  look  at,  and,  in  addition  to  the 
old  bruise  oh  the  left,  side  of  his  face,  seemed  to  he  bruised  and 
torn  all  over.  He  could  not  so  much  as  get  his  breath  to  speak, 
until  they  were  both  separately  handcuffed,  but  leaned  upon  a  sol- 
dier to  keep  himself  from  falling. 

"  Take  notice,  guard,  that  he  tried  to  murder  me,"  were  his  first 
words. 

"  Tried  to  murder  him  '? ''  said  my  convict,  disdainfully.  "  Try, 
and  not  do  it?  I  took  him,  and  give  him  up  ;  that's  what  T  done. 
I  not  only  prevented  him  getting  -off  the  marshes,  but  I  dm 
him  here — dragged  him  this  far  on  his  way  back.  He's  a  gentleman, 
if  you  please,  that  villain.  Now  the  Hulks  lias  got  its  gentleman 
again,  through  me.  ,  Murder  him?  Worth  my  while,  too,  to  mur- 
der him,  when  I  could  do  worse  and  drag  him  back  !  " 

The  other  one  still  gasped,  ';  He  tried — he  tried — to — murder 
me.    Bear — bear  witness.' 

"  Lookee  here  !  "  said.my^convict  to  the  sergeant.  "  I  got  clear 
of  the  prisonship  ;  I  made  a  dash,  and  I  .done  it.  I 'could  ha' 
got  clear  of  these  dea  h-cold  flats  likewise — look  at  my  lug  ;  you 
won't  find  much  inon  on  il — if  1  hadn't  made  discovery  that  he 
was  there.  Lot  him  go  free  ?  Let  him  profit  by  the  means  as  f 
found  onl  I  'Let  him  make  use  of  me  afresh  and  again  I  Oi  Ce 
njorel.  No,'  no,  no.  If  I  had  died  at  the  bottom  there*'— and 
he  made  an  emphatic  motion  at  the  ditch  with  his  manacled 
hands— "  I'd  have  held  to  him  with  that  grip  that  you  should 
have  been  safe   o  find  him  in  my  hbld.'-1 

The  other  fugitive,  who  was  evidently  in  extreme  fear  of  his 
•anion*  repeated,  "  lie  tried  to  murder  me.  I  "should  have 
a  dead  Tu  had  not  com." 

"He  lies! ''said  my  convicWwith   I 

He's  a  liar  bom,  and  he/'ll  die  a  liar.     Look  at   his* 
'.•itteiv there  ?     Let  him  turn  them  ,.e  — 

do  it." 

The  other,  with  a  -  cornful  smile — which  could  n^L 

however,  collect  the  nervous  working  of  his  mouth  into  <tnywt 
expression — looked  at  the  soldiers,  .and  looked  about  at  the  mar 
ami  at  t  e  sky,  but  certainly  did  not  look  at  the  speaker.'. 

"  Do  you  see  him  1 "  pursued  my  convict.     "  Do  you  see  | 
a  villain  he  is  ?     Do  you  see  them  groveling  and  wandering  eyes  1 
That's  how  he  looked  when  we  wjje  triad  together.     He  never 
looked  at  me»"        <|  '    _ 

The  other,  always  working  and  worl  -flips  and  turning 

his  ey.es  restlessly  abofrt  him  far  and  near,  did  at  lasfcgurn  them 
for  a  moment  on  the  speaker,  wij|th]^woj|g,  "  You  are  not  much 
to  look  at,"  and  ^wiUrf, half-taunting  glance  at  the  bound  hands.. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  31 

At  that  point  my  convict  became  so  frantically  exasperated  that 
he  would  have  rushed  upon  him  hut  for  the  interposition  of  the 
soldiers.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you,"  said  the  other  convict  then,  "  that 
he  would  murder  me  if  he  could?"  And  any  one  could  see  that 
he  shook,  and  lhat  there  broke  -out  Upon:  his  lips  ourious  white 
flakes,  like  thin  snow. 

'■Enough  of  this  parley,"   said  the   sergeant.     "Light    those 

As  one  of  the  soldiers,  who  carried  a  basket  in  lieu  of  ;i  gun, 
worn  down  on  his  knee  to  open  it  my  conviei  looked  round  him  for 
the  tirst  time  and  saw  me.  I  bad  alighted  from  .Toe's  back  on  the 
brink  of  the  ditch  when  he  came  up,  and  had  not  moved  since.  I 
looked  at  him  eagerly  when  he  looked  at  me,  and  moved  my  hands 
and  shook-  my  head.  I  had  been  waiting  for  him  to  see  me.  that 
I  might  try  to  assure  him  of  my  innocence.  It  was  not  at  all  ex- 
pressed to  me  that  he  even  comprehended  my  intention,  for  he 
'gave  ra'e  a  look  that  1  did  not  understand,  and  it  all  passed  in  a 
moment.  But  if  he  had  looked  at  me  for  au  hour  or  a  day,  I  could 
not  have  remembered  his  face  ever  afterward  as  having  been  more 
attentive. 

The  soldier  with  the  !•.  :    a  light,  and  lighted  three 

oi- four  torches,  and  took  one  himself  and  distributed  the  others. 
[I  had  been  almost  dark  before,  hut  now  it  seemed  quite  dark",  and 
h  afterward  very  dark.  Before  we  departed  from  that  spot  four 
thfe  soldiers,  standing  in  a  ring,  tired  twice  into  the  air.  Pres- 
ently we  saw  other  torches  lighted  at  some  distance  behind  iis^, 
and  others  on  the  marshes  on  the  opposite  hank  of  the  river.  "  All 
right,"  said  the  sergeant.     "March!" 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  three  cannon  were  fired  ahead  of  us 
with  a  sound  that  seemed  to  burst  something  inside  my  ear.     "  Von 
*  are  expected  on  hoard."  s.  id  the  sergeant    to  my  convict ;  "they 
.  you  are  coming.     Don't  straggle,  my  men.     Clofce  lip  here." 
The  two  we/e  kepi  apart,  and  each  walked  surrounded  by  a  sep- 
arate guard.     I  had  hold  of  Joe's  hand  now,  and  .doe  carried  one 
of  the.  torches:     Mr.  Wopsle  had  been  for  going  back,  but  doe  was 
Ived  to  see  it  out,  so  we  went  en  with  the  [tarty.     There  was  a 
reasonably  good  path  now.  mostly  on  the  edge  of  the  river,  with  a 
divergence   here  and   there  where  a  dike  came,  with  a  miniature 
wind-mill  on  it,  and  a  slimy  sluice-gate.     When  I  looked  round  J 
other  lights  ccrming  on   aft  The  torches  we 

•ied  dropp.  letches  of  lire  upon  the  track,  and   1   could 

»,  smoking  and  flaring.     I  could  see  nothing  else  but 
'^icss.      Our  light!5  about  us  with  their 

pitch  i etched  men  seemed  to  like  that  rather 

limped  aloijg  Wlhe  midst  of  the  muskets. .  We  could  not 
go  fast  because  of  i h.-irdaniciicss,  and  they  were  so  spent  that  two 
•r  three  times;  w«  had  to  halt  while  they  vested 


32  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

After  an  hour  or  so  of  this  traveling  we  came  to  a  rough  wooden 
hut  and  a  landing  place. <  There  was  a  guard  in  the  hut,  and  they 
challenged  ns>  and  the  sergeant  answered.  Then  we  went  into  I  lie 
hut,  where  there  was-  a  smell  of  tobacco  and  whitewash,  arid  a 
bright  fire,  and  a  lamp,  and  a  stand  of  muskets,  and  a  drum,  and 
a  low  wooden  bedstead,  like  an  immense  mangle  without  the  ma- 
chinery, capable  of  holding  about,  a  dozen  soldiers  all  at  once. — 
Three  or  four  soldiers  who  lay  upon  it  were  not  much  interested  in  us, 
but  just  lifted  their  heads  and  took  a  stare,  and  then  lay  down  again. 
The  sergeant  made  some  kind  of  report,  and  some  entry  in  a  book, 
and  then  the  convict,  whom  I  call  the  other  convict,  was  drafted 
off  with  his  guard  to  go  on  board  first. 

My  convict  never  looked  at  me,  except  that  once  that  I  have 
mentioned.  While  we  stood  in  the  hut  he  stood  before  the  fire 
looking  at  it,  or  putting  up  his  miserable  feet  by  turns  upon  the 
hob  and  looking  at  them  as  if  lie  pitied  them.  Suddenly  he  turned 
to  the  sergeant,  and  remarked  : 

"I  wish  to  say  something  respecting  this  escape.  If  may  pre- 
vent some  persons  lying  under  suspicion  alonger  me." 

"You  can  say  what   you   like,"  returned  the  sergeant,  standing 
looking  at  him  with  bis  arms  folded;  "  but  you  have  no  call  to 
it  here,  you  know.     You'll  have  opportunity  enough   to  say  about 
it,  and  hear  about  it,  before  it's  done  with." 

't  I  know  that,  but  this  is  another  pint,  a  separate  pint.  A  man 
can't  starve ;  at  least  7  can't.  I  took  some  wittles  up  at  the  wil-. 
iage  over  yonder — where  the  church  stands  a'most  out  on  the 
marshes." 

"  You  mean  stole  ?  "  said  the  sergeant. 

"Ah!   I'll  tell  you  where  from.     From  the  blacksmith's." 

••  Halloa!"  said  the  sergeant  staring  at  Ji 

"  Halloa,  Pip  !"  said  Joe,  staring  at  me. 

"  It  was  some  broken  wittles — that's  what  it  was — and  a  dram 
of  liquor,  and  a  pie." 

"  Have  you  happened  to  miss  such  an  article  a*s  a  pie,  black- 
smith <  "  asked  the  sergeant,  confidentially. 

'"  ilrs.  doe  did,  at  the  very  moment  when  you  came  in.  Don't 
you  know,  Hip'/  "  . 

"  Oh  ! "  said  my  convict  to  Joe,  in  a  moody  manner,  and  wiii 
the  least  glance  at  me.  "  So  you're  the  blacksmith  are  you  ?    Then 
I'm  sorry  to  say  I've  eat  your  pie."  • 

"God  knows  you're  welcome  t o "it — so  far  as  it  was  ever  mine," 
returned  Joe  with  a  saving  remembrance  of  Airs.  Joe.    "  We  i 
know  what  you  have  done  ;  but  we  wouldn't  have  you  starved  to 
death   for  it,  miserable  fellow-lreature,  whatever  it  wis.     Would 
us,  Pip?" 

The  something  that   I  bad  m  licked  in  the  man's 

throat  again,  and  he  turned  bis  back.     The  boat  had  returned,  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  33 

his  guard  were  ready,  so  we  followed  him  to  the  landing-place, 
made  of  rough  stakes  and  stones,  and  saw  him  put  into  the  boat, 
which  was  rowed  by  a  crew  of  convicts  like  himself.  Xo  one  ap- 
peared triad  to  see  him,  or  sorry  to  see  him,  or  spoke  a  word,  ex- 
cept that  somebody  called  as  if  to  dogs,  ','Give  way,  you  !"  v. 
was  the  signal  for  the  dip  of  the  oars.  By  the  light  of  the  torches 
we  saw  the  black  Hulk  lying, out  a  little  way  from  the  mud  of  the 
shore,  like  a  wicked  Noah's  ark  ;  cribbed,  and  barred,  and  anchored 
by  massive  rusty  chains,  the  prison-ship  was  ironed  like  the  [iris- 
oners.  We  saw  the  »  alongside,  and  we  saw  him  taken  up 
ide  and  disappear.  Then  the  ends  of  the  torches  were  flung 
hissing  into  the  water,  and  went  out  as  if  it  were  all  over  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


My  state  of  mind  regarding  the  pilfering  from  which  I  had  been 
so  unexpectedly  exonerated,  did  not  impel  me  to  frank  disclosure; 
but  I  hope  it  had  some  (\\\"j:*  of  good  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

I  do  not  recall. that  I  felt  any  tenderness  of  conscience  in  refer- 
ence to  Mrs.  Joe  when  the  fear  of  being  found  out  was  lifted  off 
me.  But  I  loved  Jne — perhaps  for  no  better  reason  in  those  early 
days  than  because  the  dear  fellow  let  me  love  him — and,  as  to  him, 
my  inner  self  was  nor  so  easily  composed.  It  was  much  upon  my 
mind  (particularly  when  I  first  saw  him  looking  about  for  his  file) 
that  I  ought  to  tell  Joe  the  whole  truth.  Yet  I  did  not,  and  for 
the  reason-  thai  I  mistrusted  that  if  I  did  he  would  think  me  worse 
than  I  was.  The  fear  of  losing  Joe's  confidence,  and  of  theuce- 
forth  sitting  ro  the  chimney  corner  at  night  staring  drearily  at  my 
forever  lost  companion  and  friend,  lied  up  my  tongue.  I  morbidly 
represented  to  myself  that  if  Joe  knew  it,  I  never  afterward  could 
see  him  at  the  fireside  feeling  his  fair  whisker,  without  thinking 
that  he  was  meditating  on  it.  That  if  Joe  knew  it,  I  never  after- 
ward could  see  him  glance,  however  casually,  at  yesterda 
or  pudding  when  it  came  on  to-day's  table,  without  thinking  that 
he  was  debating  whether  I  had  been  in  the  pantry.  That  if  Joe 
knew  it,  and  at  any  subsequent  period  of  our  joint  domestic  life  re- 
marked that  his  beer  was  flat  or  thick,  the  conviction  thai  he  sus- 
pected Tar  in  it  would  bring  a  rush  of  blood  to  my  face.  In  a- 
word,  I  was  too  cowardly  to  do  what  I  knew  to  be  right,  as  I  had 
been  too  cowardly  to  avoid  doing  what  I  knew  to  be  wrong.  I 
had  had  no  intercourse  with  people  at  that  time,  and  1  imitated 
none  of  the  host^pf  people  who  act  in  this  mauuer;  quite  an  un- 
2 


34  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

taught  genius,  I  made  the  discovery  of  the  line  of  action  for  my- 
self: 

As  I  was  sleepy  before  we  were  far  away  from  the  prison-ship, 
Joe  took  me  on  his  back  again  and  carried  me  home.'  He  must 
have  had  a  tiresome  journey  of  it,  for  Mr.  TVopsle,  being  knocked 
up,  was  in  such  a  very  bad  temper,  that  if  the  Church  had  been 
thrown  open  he  probably  would  have  excommunicated  the  whole 
expedition,  beginning  with  Joe  and'  myse'f.  In  his  simple  lay 
capacity  he  simply  persisted  in  sitting  down  in  the  damp  to  such 
an  insane  extent,  that,  when  his  coat  was  taken  off  to  he  dried  at 
the  kitchen  fire,  the  circumstantial  evidence  on  his  trowsers  would 
have  hanged  him  if  it  had  been  a  capital  offence. 

By  that  time  I  was  staggering  on  the  kitchen  floor  like  a  little 
drunkard,  through  having  been  newly  set  upon  my  feet,  and 
through  having  been  fast  asleep,  and  through  waking  in  the  heat 
and  lights  and  noise  of  tongues.  As  I  came  to  myself,  (with  the 
aid  of  a  heavy  thump  between  the  shoulders,  and  the  restorative 
exclamation  "Yah  !  Was  there  ever  such  a  boy  as  this!"  from 
my  sister)  I  found  Joe  telling  them  about  the  convict's  confession, 
and  all  the  visitors  suggesting  different  ways  by  which  he  had  got 
into  the  pantry.  Mr.  Pumblechook  made  out,  after  carefully  sur- 
veying the  premises,  that  he  had  first  got  upon  the  roof  of  the 
forge,  and  had  then  got  upon  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  had  then 
let  himself  down  the  kitchen  chimney  by. a  rope  made  of  his  bed- 
ding cut  into  strips;  and  as  Mr.  Pumblechook  was  very  positive 
and  drove  his  own  chaise-cart — over  everybody — it  was  agreed 
that 'it  must  be  so.  Mr.  Wopsle,  indeed,  wi  dly  cried  out  "  No  !" 
wirh  the  feeble  malice  of  a  tired  man;  but  as  he  had  no  theory, 
and  no  coat  on,  he  was  unanimously  set  at  naught — not  to  men- 
tion his  smoking  hard  behind,  as  he  stood  with  his  hack  to  the 
kitchen  fire  to  draw  the  damp  out,  which  was  not  calculated  to  in- 
spire confidence. 

This  was  all  I  heard  that  night  before  my  sister  clutched  me, 
as  a  slumberous  offence  to  the  company's  eyesight,  and  assisted 
me  tip  to  bed  with  such  a  strong  hand  that  1  seemed  to  have  twen- 
ty boots  on,  and  to  be  dangling  them  all  against  the  edges  of  the 
stairs.  My  state  of  mind,  as  I  have  described  it,  began  before  I 
was  up  in  the  morning,  and  lasted  long  after  the  subject  had  died 
out,  and  had  ceased  to  be  mentioned  saving  on  exceptional  oc- 
casions. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  3a 


CHAPTER  VII. 


At  the  time  when  I  stood  in  the  church -yard,  reading  the  family 
tomb-stones,  1  had  just  enough  learning  to  be  able  to  spell  them 
out.  My  construction  even  of' their  simple  meaning  was  not  very 
correct,  for  I  read  "wife  of  the  Above."  as  a  complimentary  re- 
ference to  my  father's  exaltation  to  a  better  world  ;  and  if  any  one 
of  my  deceased  relations  had  been  referred  to  as  "Below,"  I  have 
no  doubt.  I  should  have  formed  the  worst  opinions  of  that,  member 
of  the  family.  Neither  were  my  notions  of  the  theological  posi- 
tions to  which  my  Catechism  bound  me  at  all  accurate,  for  I  have 
a  lively  remembrance  that  1  supposed  ray  declaration  that  I  was 
to  "  walk  in  the  same  all  the  days  of  my  life,"  laid  me  under  an 
obligation  always  to  go  through  the  village  from  our  house  in  one 
particular  direction,  and  never  to  vary  it  by  turning  down  by  the 
wheelwright's  or  up- by  the  mill. 

When  I  was  old  enough  I  was  to  be  apprenticed  to  Joe,  and 
until  I  could  assume  that  dignity  I  was  not  to  be  what  Mrs.  Joe 
cal  ed  "  Pompeyed,"  or  pampered.  Therefore  1  was  not.  only 
odd-boy  about  the  forge,  but  if  any  neighbor  happened  to  wanl 
an  extra  boy  to  frighten  birds,  or  pick  np  stones,  or  do  any  such 
job,  I  wa3  favored  with  the  employment;  but.  in  order  that  our 
superior  position  might  not  be  compromised  thereby,  a  moneybox 
was  kept  on  the  kitchen  mantle-shelf,  into  which  it  was  publicly 
made  known  that  all  my  earnings  were  dropped.  1  have  an  im- 
pression that  they  were  to  be  contributed  eventually  toward  the 
liquidation  of  the  National  Debt,  but  I  know  I  had  no  hope  of  any 
personal  participation  in  the  treasure. 

Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt  kept  an  evening  school  in  the  village  : 
that  is  to  say,  she  was  an  ancient  woman  of  limited  means  and  unlim- 
ited infirmity,  who  used  to  go  to  sleep  from  six  to, seven  every  eve- 
ning, in  the  society  oi  youth  who  paid  three  pence  per  week  each 
for  the  improving  opportunity  of  seeing  her  doit.  She  rented  a 
three-roomed  cottage,  and  Mr.  Wopsle  had  the  room  up  stairs, 
where  we  students  used  to  overhear  him  reading  aloud  in  a  most 
dignified  and  terrific  manner,  and  occasionally  bumping  on  the 
ceiling.  There  was  a  fiction  that  Mr.  Wopsle  "examined"  the 
scholars  once  a  quarter.  What  he  did  on  those  occasions  was  to 
turn  up  his  cuffs,  stick  up  his  hair,  and  give  us  Mark  Antony's 
oration  over  the  body  of  C;esar.  This  was  always  followed  by 
Collins's  Ode  on  the  Passions,  wherein  I  particularly  venerated 
Mr.  Wopsle  as  Fear,  whistling  to  keep  his  courage  up.  It  was 
not  with  me  lieu,  as  it  was  iu  later  life,  when  I  fell  into  the  socie- 


36  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

i 

ty  of  the  Passions,  and  compared  tbem  with  Collins  and  Wopsle, 
rather  to  the  disadvantage  of  both  gentlemen. 

Mr.  Wopsle's  great  aunt,  besides  keeping  this  Educational  In- 
stitution, kept — in  the  same  room — a  little  general  shop.  She  had 
no  idea  what  stock  she  had,  or  what  the  price  of  any  thing  in  it 
was  ;  but  there  was  a  little  greasy  memorandum  book  kept  in  a 
drawer,  which  served  as  a  Catalogue  of  Prices,  and  by  this  oracle 
Biddy  arranged  all  the  shop  transactions.  Biddy  was  Mr.  Wop- 
sle's great  aunt's  grand-daughter;  I  confess  myself  quite  unequal 
to  the  working  out  of  the  problem  what  relation  she  was  to  Mr. 
Wopsle.  She  was  an  orphan  like  myself  ;  like  me,  too,  had  been 
brought  up  by  band.  She  was  most  noticeable,  I  thought,  in  re- 
spect of  her  extremities  ;  for  her  hair  always  wanted  brushing,  her 
hands  always  wanted  washing,  and  her  shoes  always  wanted 
mending  and  pulling  up  at  the  heel.  This  description  must  be 
received,  however,  with  a  week-day  limitation.  On  Sundays, she 
went  to  church  elaborated. 

Much  of  my  unassisted  self,  and  more  by  the  help  of  Biddy  than 
of  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt,  I  struggled  through  the  alphabet  as  if 
it  had  been  a  bramble-bush  ;  getting  considerably  worried  and 
scratched  by  every  letter.  After  that  I  fell  among  those  thieves, 
the  nine  figures,  who  seemed  every  evening  to  do  something  new 
to  disguise  themselves  and  baffle  recognition.  But  at  last  I  began, 
in  a  purblind  groping  way,  to  read,  write,  and  cipher,  on  the  very 
smallest  scale. 

One  night  I  was  sitting  in 'the  chimney  corner  with  my  slate, 
expending  great  efforts  on  the  production  of  a  letter  to  Joe.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  a  full  year  after  our  hunt  upon  the  marsh- 
es, for  it  was  a  long  time  after,  and  it  was  winter  and  a  hard  frost. 
With  an  alphabet  on  the  hearth  at  my  feet  for  reference,  1  con- 
trived in  an  hour  or  two  to  print  and  smear  this  epistle: 

"  mI  deEer  JO  i  opE  U  r  krWitE  wEll  i  <>pE  i  shAl  soN 
B  haIjklL  4  2  teeDge  U  JO  aN  theN  wE  shObl  u  sO  olOdd 
aX  wBn  i  M  prejSgtD  2  u  JO  woT  lakX  an  blEvE  ME  ixE 
xx  PiP." 

There  was  no  indispensable  necessity  for  my  communicating  with 
Joe  by  letter,  inasmuch  as  he  sat  beside  me  and  we  were  alone. 
But  I  delivered  this  written  communication  (slate  and  all)  wit.h  my 
own  hand,  and  Joe  received  it  as  a  miracle  of  erudition. 

"  I  say,  Pip,  old  chap  !"  cried  Joe,  opening  his  blue  eyes  wide, 
"  what  a  scholar  you  are  !     An't  you  V 

"  I  should  like  to  be,"  said  I,  glancing  at  the  slate  as  he  held  it, 
with  a  misgiving  that  the  writing  was  rather  hilly. 

"Why,  here's  a  J,"  said  Joe,  "and  a  0  equal  to  anything ! 
Here's  a  J  and  0,  Pip,  and  a  J-0,  Joe." 

1  had  never  heard  Joe  read  aloud  to  any  greater  extent  than 
this  monosyllable,  and  I  had  observed  at  church  last  Sunday  when 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  37 

I  accidentally  held  onr  prayer-hook  upside  down,  that  it  seemed  to 
suit  his  convenience  quite  as  well  as  if  it  had  been  all  right.  Wish- 
ing to  embrace  the  present  occasion  of  finding  out  whether  ii>  teach- 
ing Joe  I  should  have  to  begin  quite  at  the  beginning,  I  said, 
"Ah  !     But  read  the  rest,  due." 

"The  rest,  eh.  Pip? "said  Joe,  looking  at  it  with  a  slowly 
searching  eye,  "  ( >ne,  two,  three.  Why,  here's  three  Js  and  three 
Os,  and  \Uwe  JO  Joes  in  it  Pip  !  " 

I  leaned  over  Joe,  and,  with  the  aid  of  my  forefinger,  read  him 
the  whole  letter. 

"  Astonishing !"  said  Joe,  when  I  had -finished.  "You  are  a 
scholar." 

"  How  do  you  spell  Gargery,  doc  C  I  asked  him,  with  a  modest 
patronage. 

"  I  don't  spell  it  at  all,"  said  Joe. 

"  But  supposing  you  did  ?" 

"  It  can't  be  supposed,"  said  Joe.  "  But  I'm  oncommon  fond  of 
reading,  too." 

"  Are  you,  Joe?" 

"Oncommon.  Give  me,"  said  Joe,  "a  good  book,  or  a  good 
newspaper,  and  sit  me  down  afore  a  good  fire,  and  I  ask  no  better. 
Lord!  "  he  continued,  after  robbing  his  knees  a  little,  "  when  you 
do  come  to  a  d  and  a  (),  and  says  you,  '  Here,  at  last,  is  a  J-O, 
Joe,'  how  interesting  reading  is  !  " 

I  derived  from  this  thai  Joe's  education,  like  steam,  was  yet  in 
its  infancy.     Pursuing  the  subject,  I  inquired: 

"  Didn't  you  ever  i;o  to  school,  Joe,  when  you  were  as  little  as 
me?" 

"  No,  Pip." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ever  go  to  school,  Joe,  when  you  were  as  lit- 
tle as  me.  ' 

"  Well,  Pip>"  said  Joe,  taking  up  the  poker  and  settling  himself 
to  his  usual  occupation  when  he  was  thoughtful,  of  slowly  raking 
the  fire  between  the  lower  bars,  "  I'll  tell  you.  My  father,  Pip, 
he  were  given  to  drink,  and  wheu  he  were  overtook  with  drink  he 
hammered  away  at  my  mother  most  onmerciful.  It  were  a'mosf 
the  only  hammering  he  did,  indeed,  'xcepting  at  myself.  And  -he 
hammered  at  me  with  a  wigor  only  to  be  equaled  by  the  wigor 
with  which  he  didn't  hammer  at  his  anwil.  Yoil're  a  listening  and 
understanding,  Pip  ? " 

"  Consequence — my  mother  and  me  we  ran  away  from  my  fath- 
er several  times;  and  then  my  mother  she'd  go  out  to  work,  and 
she'd  say,   'Joe,'   she'd   say,  '  now,   please  God,  you  shall  have 
some  schooling,  child,'  and   she'd  put   me   to   school.      But   my 
r   were    that   good    in    his    hart-  that    he   couldn't   abear   to 
without  us.      So  he'd  come  with   a  most  tremenjous  crowd, 


38  *       GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

'  and  nia':e  such  a  row  at  the  doors  of  the  houses  where  we 
was,  that  they  used  to  be  obligated  to  have  no  more  to  do 
with  us  and  to  give  us  up  10  him.  And  then  lit'  took  us  home 
an. I  hammered  us.  "Which  you'  see,  Pip,"  said  Joe,  pausing  in  bis 
meditative  raking  of  the  fire,  and  looking  at  me,  "  were  a  drawback 
on  my  learning." 

"  Certainly — poor  Joe  !  " 

"Though,  mind  you,  Pip,"  said  Joe,  with  a  judicial  touch  or 
two  of  the  poker  on  the  top  bar,  "  rendering  unto  all  their  doo,  and 
maintaining  equal  justice  betwixt  man  and  man,  my  father  were 
that  good  in  his  hart,  don't  you  see?  " 

I  didn't  see;  but  I  didn't  say  so. 

"Well !  "  Joe  pursued,  "somebody  must  keep  the  pot  a  Idling, 
Pip,  or  the  pot  won't  bile,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

1  saw  that,  and  said  SO. 

" 'tLonsequence — my  father  didn't  make  objections  to  my  going 
to  work  ;  so  1  went  to  work  at  my  present  calling,  which  were  his 
too,  if  he  would  have  followed  it,  and  I  worked  tolerable  hard,  1 
assure  you,  Tip.  In  time  I  were  able  to  keep  him,  and  1  kep  him 
till  he  went  off  in  a  purple  leptic  lit.  And  it;  were  my  intentions 
to  have  bad  put  upon  his  tombstone  that  Whatsume'er  the  failings 
on  his  part.  Remember,  reader,  he  were  that  good  in  his  hart." 

Joe  recited  this  couplet  with  such  manifest  pride  and  careful 
perspicuity  that  \  asked  him  if  he  had  made  it  bimsi 

■'  I  made  it,"  said  Joe,  "my  own  self.  I  made  it  in  a  tnon 
It  was  like  striking  out  a  horseshoe  complete  in  a  single  blow.  1 
never  was  so  much  surprised  in  all  my  life  —  couldn't  credit  my 
own  ed — to  tell  you  the  truth,  hardly  believed  it  wat  my  own  ed. 
As  I  was  saying,  Pip,  it  were  my  intentions  to  have  had  it  cul  over 
him  ;  but  poetry  costs  money,  cut  it  how  you  will,  small  or  large, 
and  it  were  not  done.  Not  to  mention  bearers,  all  the  money  that 
could  be  spared  were  wanted  for  my  mother.  She  '..ore  in  poor 
elth,  and  quite  broke.  She  weren't  long  of  following,  poor  soul, 
and  her  share  of  peace  come  round  at  h 

Joe's  blue  eyes  turned  a  little  watery  :  he  rubbed*  firs 
them  and  then  the  other,  in  a  most  uncongenial  and  uncomforta- 
ble manner,  with  the  round  knob  on  the  top  of  the  po 

"  It  were  but  lonesome  then,"  said  Joe,  "  liv'i,  lone,  and 

I  got  acquainted  with  your  sister.  Now,  Pip,"  Joe  looked  firmly 
at  me,  as  if  he  knew  I  was  not  going  to  agree  with  him,  "your 
sister  is  a  fine  figure  of  a  woman." 
I  could  not  help  looking  at  the  fire  in  an  obvious  state  of  doubt. 
"Whatever  family  opinions,  or  whatever  the  world's  opinii 
on  that  subject  may  be,  Pip,  your  sister  is  " — roe  tapped  the  top 
bar  with  the  poker  after  every  word  following — "  a — hue — figure — 
of — a — woman  !  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.     .  39 

I  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say  than  "  I  am  glad  you  think 
so,  Joe." 

"  Bo  am  I,"  returned  Joe,  catching  me  up.  "  I  am  glad  I  think 
so,  Pip.  A  little  redness,  or  a  little  matter  of  bone,  here  or  there, 
what  does  it  signify  to  Me  I  " 

I  sagaciously  observed,  if  it,  didn't  signify  to  him,  to  whom  did 
it  signify  ? 

" Certainly !"  assented  Joe.  "That's  it.  You're  right,  old 
chap!  When  I  got  acquainted  with  your  sister,  it  were  the  talk 
]inv,  she  was  bringing  yon  up  by  hand.  Very  kind  of  her  too,  all 
the  folks  .said,  and  1  said,  along  with  all  the  folks.  As  to  you," 
Joe  pursued,  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  seeing  something 
very  nasty  indeed:  "if  you  could  have  been  aware  how  small  and 
flabby  and  mean  you  was,  dear  me,  you'd  have  formed  the  most 
contemptible  opinions  of  yourself!  " 

Not  exactly  relishing  this.  T  said,  "Xever  mind  me,  Joe." 

"But  I  did  mind  you,  Pip,"  he  returned,  with  tender  simplicity. 
"  When  I  offered  to  your  sister  to  keep  company,  and  to  be  asked 
in  church  at  such  times  as  she  was  willing  and  ready  to  come  to 
the  forge,  I  said  to  her, '  And  bring  the  poor  little  child.  God  bless 
the  poor  little  child,'  1  said  to  your  sister,  'there's  room  for  him  at 
the  forge  ! '  " 

I  broke  out  crying  and  begging  pardon,  and  hugged  Joe  round 
the  neck  ;  who  dropped  the  poker  to  bug  me,  and  to  say,  "  Ever 
the  best  of  friends,  ain't  us,  Pip?    Don't  cry;  old  chap!  " 

"When  this  little  interruption  was  over,  Joe  resumed  : 

"Well,  you  see.  Pip,  and  here  we  are  !  That's  about  where  it 
lights ;  here  we  are  !  Now,  when  you  take  me  in  hand  in  my  learn- 
ing, Pip  (and  1  tell  you  beforehand  I  am  awful  dull,  most  awful 
dull),  Mrs.  Joe  musn't  see  too  much  of  what  we're  up  to.  It  must 
be  done,  as  I  may  say,  on  the  sly.  And  why  on  the  sly  ?  I'll  tell 
you  why,  Pip  " 

He  had  taken  up  the  poker  again,  without  which  I  doubt  if  he 
could  have  proceeded  in  his  demonstration. 

"  Your  sister  is  given  to  government." 

"  Given  to  government,  Joe  ? "  1  was  startled,  for  1  had  some 
shadowy  idea  (and  I  am  afraid  I  must  add,  hope)  that  Joe  had 
divorced  her  in  favor  of  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty,  or  Treasury. 

"  Given  to  gbvernment,'*said  Joe-,  "  Which  I  meantersay  the 
government  of  you  and  myself." 

"  Oh  !  " 

"  And  she  an't  over  partial  to  having  scholars  on  the  premises," 
doe  continued,  "and  in  partikeler  would  not  be  over  partial  to  my 
being  a  scholar,  for  fear  as  1  might  rise.  Like  a  sort,  of  rebel, 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

I  was  going  to  retort  with  an  inquiry,  and  had  got  -  o  far  as 
"  Why — "  when  Joe  stopped  me. 


40  GKEAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

"  Stay  a  bit.  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  Pip  ;  stay  a  bit ! 
I  don't  deny  tbat  your  sister  conies  the  Mo-gul  over  us,  now  and 
again.  I  don't  deny  that  she  do  throw  us  talis,  and  that  she  do 
drop  down  upon  us  heavy.  At  such  times  as  your  sister  is  on  the 
ram-page,  Pip,"  Joe  sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper  and  glanced  at  the 
door,  "  candor  compels  fur  to  admit  that  she  is  a*Buster." 

Joe  pronounced  this  word  as  if  it  began  with  at  least  twelve  cap- 
tal  Bs. 

"  Why  don't  I  rise  1  That  were  your  observation  when  I  broke 
it  off,  Pip  ?  " 

"Yes,  Joe." 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  passing  the  poker  into  his  left  hand,  that  he 
might  feel  his  whisker  ;  and  I  had  no  hope  for  him  when  he  took 
to  that  placid  occupation  ;  "your  sister's  a  master-mind.  A  mas- 
ter-mind." 

"  What's  that  1 "  I  asked,  in  some  hope  of  bringing  him  to  a 
stand  But  Joe  was  readier  with  his  definition  than  I  had  ex  eeted, 
and  completely  stopped  me  by  arguing  circularly  and  answering 
with  a  fixed  look,  "  Her." 

"And  I  an't  a  master-mind,"  Joe  resumed,  when  he  had  unfix- 
ed his  look,  and  got  back  to  his  whisker.  "And  last  of  all,  Pip — 
and  this  I  want  to  say  very  serous  to  you,  old  chap — I  see  so 
much  in  my  poor  mother  of  a  woman  drudging,  and  slaving,  and 
breaking  her  honest  heart,  and  never  getting  no  peace  in  her  mor- 
tal days,  that  I'm  dead  afeerd  of  going  wrong  in  the  way  of  not 
doing  what's  right  by  a  woman,  and  I'd  fur  rather  of  the  two  go 
wrong  the  t'other  way,  and  be  a  little  ill-con.wenienced  myself.  I 
wish  it  was  only  me  that  got  put  out,  Pip ;  I  wish  there  warn'i  no 
Tickler  for  you,  old  chap  ;  I  wish  I  could  take  it  all  on  myself; 
but  this  is  the  up-and-down-and-straight  on'  it,  Pip,  and  I  hope 
you'll  overlook  short-coming: 

Young  as  I  was,  I  believe  thai  i  dated  a  new  admiration  of  Joe 
from  that  night.  We  were  equals  afterward,  as  we  had  been  be- 
fore; but  afterward  at  quiet  times,  when  I  sat  looking  at  Joe  and 
thinking  about  him,  I  had  a  new  sensation  of  feeling  conscious  that 
I  was  looking  up  to  Joe  in  my  heart.. 

"  However,"  said  Joe,  rising  to  replenish  the  fire.  "  here's  the 
Dutch-clock  a  working  himself  up  to  being  equal  to  striking  Eight 
of  'em,  and  she's  not  come  home  yet!  I  hope  •Uncle  Pumble- 
chook's  mare  mayn't  have  set  a  forefoot  on  a  piece  q'  ice,  and  gone 
down." 

Mrs.  Joe  made  occasional  trips  with  Uncle  Pumblechook  on 
market  days,  to  assist  him  in  buying  such  household  stuffs  and 
goods  as  required  a  woman's  judgment ;  Uncle  Pumblechook  being 
a  bachelor  and  reposing  no  confidence  in  his  domestic  servant. 
This  was  market-day,  aud  ilrs.  Joe  was  out  on  one  of  these-  ex- 
peditions. 


4 


GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  «41 

Joe  made  the  fire  and  swept  the  hearth,  and  then  we  went  ont 
to  listen  for  the  chaise-cart.  It  was  a  dry,  cold  night,  and  the 
wind  blew  keenly,  and  the  frost  was  white  and  hard.  A  man 
would  die  to-night  of  lying  ont  (in  the  matches,  1  thought  ;  and 
then  1  looked  at  t  e  stars,  and  considered  how  awful  il  would  lie 
for  a  man  to  turn  Ins  face  up  to  them  as  he  froze  to  death,  and  see 
no  help  or  pity  in  the  whole  glittering  multitude. 

"  Bere  comes  the  mare,"  said  Joe,  ••  ringing  like  hells!" 

The  sound  of  her  iron  shoes  upon  the  hard  road  was  quite  mu- 
sical, as  she  came  along  at  a  much  brisker  trot  than  usual.  We 
got  a  chair  out  ready  for  Mrs.  doe's  alighting,  and  stirred  up  the 
lire  that  they  might  see  a  bright  window,  and  took  a  final  survey 
of  the  kitchen  that  nothing  might  be  out  of  its  place.  When  we 
had  completed  these  preparations  they  drove  up,  wrapped  to  the 
eyes.  Mrs.  doe  was  soon  landed,  and  Uncle  Purnblechook  was 
soon  down  covering  the  mare  with  a  cloth,  and  we  were  soon  all 
in  the  kitchen,  carrying  so  much  cold  air  in  with  us  that  it  seemed 
to  drive  all  the  heat  oul  of  the  lire. 

"  Now,"  said  .Mrs.  due,  unwrapping  herself  with  haste  and  ex- 
citement, and  throwing  her  bonnet  back"  on  her  shoulders  where  it. 
hung  by  the  strings.  "  if  this  bey  an'l  grateful  this  night,  he  nejrer 
will  be  !" 

1  looked  as  grateful  as  any  boy  possibly  could  who  was  wholly 
uninformed  why  he  ought  to  assume  thai  expression. 

"It's  only  to  be  hoped,"  said  my  sister,  "that  lie  won't  be  I'om- 
peyed,     But  .1  have  my  fears." 

"She  an't  in  that  line,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Purablephook.  "She 
knows  better." 

She.'  1  looked  at  due.  making  the  motion  with  my  lips  and 
eyebrows,  "  She  .'"  doe  looked  at  me,  making  the  motion  with  kit 
lips  and  eyebrows,  "  She  .'"  My  sister  catching  him  in  the  act,  he 
drew  the  back  of  his 'hand  across  his  nose  with  his  usual  concilia- 
tory air  on  such  occasions,  and  looked  at-  her. 

"  WeU  I"  said  my  sister,  in  her  snappish  wav.  "is  the  house 
a-f'wv 

— "Which  some  individual,"  Joe  politely  hinted,  "  mentioned — 
she." 

"And  she  is  a  she,  I  suppose  .'"  said  my  sister.  "  Unless  you 
call  Miss  Havisham  a  he.  And  1  doubt  if  even  you'll  go  so  far 
as  th 

"  Miss  Havisham,  up  town  ?"  said  Joe. 

"  Is  there  any  Miss  Havisham  down  town?"  returned  my  sister. 
"  She  wants  this  boy  to  go  and  play  there.  And  of  course  he's 
going.  And  he  had  better  play  there."  said  ^uy  sister,  shaking  her 
head  at  me  as  an  encouragement  to  be  extremely  light  and  sport- 
ive, "  or  I'll  work  him." 

I  had  heard  of  Miss  Havisham  up  town — every  body  for  miles 


42-  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

round  had  heard  of  Miss  Havisham  up  town — as  an  immensely 
rich  fend  grim  old  lady,  who  lived  in  a  large  and  dismal  house  bar- 
ricaded against  robbers,  and  who  led  a  life  of  seclusion. 

"  Well  to  be  sure !  '  said  Joe,  astounded.  "  I  wonder  how  she 
come  to  know  Pip  ?" 

"  Noodle  !"  cried  my  sister.     "Who  said  she  knew  him?" 

— "Which  some  individul,"  Joe  again  politely  hinted,  "men- 
tioned that  she  wanted  him  to  go  and  play  there." 

"  And  couldn't  she  ask  Uncle  Pumblechook  if  he  knew  of  a  boy 
to  go  and  play  there  ?  Isn't  it  just  barely  possible  that  Uncle 
Pumblechook  may  be  a  tenant  of  hers,  and  that  lie  may  sometimes 
— we  won't  say  quarteily  or  half  yearly,  for  that  would  be  requiring 
too  much  of  you — but  sometimes — go  there  to  pay  his  rent  ?  And 
couldn't  she  then  ask  Uncle  Pumblechook  if  he  knew  of  a  boy  to 
go  and  play  there  ?  And  couldn't  Uncle  Pumblechook,  being  al- 
ways considerate  and  thoughtful  for  us — though  you  may  not  think 
it,  Joseph,"  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  reproach,  as  if  he  were  the 
most  callous  of  nephews, — "then  mention  this  boy,  standing  pran- 
cing here," — which  I  solemnly  declare  I  was  not  doing — "that  I 
ha>e  for  ever  been  a  willing  slave  to?" 

".Good  again  !"  cried  Uncle  Pumblechook.  "  Well  put !  Pret- 
tily pointed  !     Good  indeed  !      Now,  Josep  ,  you  know  the  case." 

"No,  Joseph,"  said  my  sister,  still  in  a  reproachful  manner, 
while  Joe  apologetically  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  and 
across  his  nose,  "you  do  not  yet — though  you  may  not  think  it — 
know  the  case.  You  may  consider  that  you  do,  but  _you  do  not, 
Joseph.  For  you  do  not  know  that  Uncle  Pumblechook,  being 
ible  that  for  any  thing  we  can  tell,  this  boy's  fortune  may  be 
made  by  his  going  to  Miss  llavisham's,  has  oli'ered  to  take  him 
into  town  to-night  in  his  own  chaise-cart,  and  to  keep  him  to-night, 
and  to  take  him  with  his  own  bands  to  Miss  Havishani's  to-mor- 
row morning.  And  Lor-a-mussy  me  !"  cried  my  sister,  casting  off 
her  bonnet  in  sudden  desperation,  "  here  I  stand  talking  to  mere 
Mooncalfs,  with  Uncle  Pumblechook  waiting,  and  the  mare  catch- 
ing cold  at  the  door,  and  the  boy  grimed  with  crock  and  dirt  from 
the  hair  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  bis  foot !" 

With  that  she  pounced  upon  me,  like  an  eagle  on  a  lamb,  and 
my  face  was  forced  into  wooden  bowls  in  sinks,  and  my  head  was 
put  under  taps  of  water-butts,  and  1  was  soaped,  and  kneaded,  and 
toweled,  and  thumped,  and  harrowed,  and  rasped,  until  I  really 
was  quite  beside  myself.  (I, may  here  remark  that  I  conceive  my- 
self to  be  better  acquainted  than  any  living  authority  with  the 
ridgy  effect  of  a  wedding-ring,  passing  unsympathetic-ally  over  the 
human  countenan.ee.)  * 

When  my  ablutions  were  completed,  I  was  put  into  clean  linen 
of  the  stifiest  character,  like  a  young  penitent  in  sackcloth,  and  was 
trussed  up  in  ray  tightest  and  fearfulest  suit.    I  was  then  delivered 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  43 

over  to  Mr.  Pumblechook,  who  formally  received  ide  as  if  ho  wore 
the  Sheriff,  and  who  let  off  upon  me  the  speech  which  1  knew  he 
had  been  dying  to  make  all  along:  *'Boy,be  forever  grateful  to  all 
friends,  but  especially  to  them  which  brought  you  up  by  hand!" 

"  Goodrby  do.'." 

"God  Idess  you,  Pip,  old  chap." 

I  had  never  parted  from  him  before,  and  what  .with  my  feelings 
and   what   with   soap-suds   1   could  at   first  see  ho  stars  fnun  the 
chaise-cart.     Hut  they  twinkled  out   one  by  one,  without  throwing 
any  fight  on   the  questions  why  on   earth    I    was  going  to  pL 
Miss  Uavisham's,  and  what,  on  earth  1  was  expected  to  play  at. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Mi;.  Pumblechook'6  premises  in  the  High  street  of, the  market 
town  were  of  a  pepper-corny  and  farinaceous  character,  as  the 
premises  of  a  corn-chandler  and  s  edsman  should  be.  It  appeared 
to  me  that  he  must  he  a  very  happy  man  indeed  to  have  so  many 
little  drawers  in  his  shop  ;  and  1  wondered  when  I  peeped  into  one 
or  two  on  the  lower  tiers,  and  saw  the  tied-up  brown  paper  pack- 
ages inside,  whether  the  flower-seeds  and  bulbs  ever  wanted  of  a 
hue  day  to  break  out  of  those  jails  and  bloom. 

It  was  in  the  early  morning  after  my  arrival  that  I  entertained 
this  speculation.  On  the  .previous  night  I  had  been'sent  straight 
to  bed  in  an  attic  with  a' sloping  roof,  which  was  so  low  in  the 
ner  where  the  bedstead  was  that  I  calculated  the  tiles  as  being 
within  a  foot  of  my  eyebrows.  In  the  same  early  morning  i 
covered  a  singular  affinity  between  seeds  and  corduroys.  Mr.Pum- 
blcehook  wore  corduroys,  and  so  did  his  sho,  man  ;  and  somehow 
there  was  a  general  air  and' flavor  about  the  corduroys,  so  much  in 
the  nature  of  ^<.>v(\,  and  a  general  air  and  flavor  about  the  seeds,  so 
much  in  the  nature  of  corduroys,  that  I  hardly  kn  w  which  was  which. 
The  same  opportunity  served  me  for  noticing  that  Mr.  Pumble-, 
chook  appeared  to  conduct  bis  business  by  looking  across  the  street 
e  saddler,  wdio  appeared  to  transact  his  business  by  keeping 
his  eye  on  the  coach  maker,  who  appeared  to  get  on  in  life  by  put- 
ting his  hands  in  his  pocket  and  contemplating  the  baker,  who,  in 
his  turn,  folded  his  arms  and  stared  at  the  grocer,  who  stood  a 
his  door  and  yawned  ai  the  chemist.  The  watchmaker,  always 
poring  over  a  little  <iesk  with  a  magnifying  glass  at  bis  eye,  and 
always  inspected  by  a  group  iu  smbek-frocks  poring  over  him 
through  the  glass  id  his  sh  >p-window,  Seemed  to  lie  about  the  only 
person  in  the  High  Street,  whose  Ins  attention. 


44  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Mr.  Pumblechook  and  I  breakfasted  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  par- 
lor behind  the  shop,  while  the  shopman  took  his  mug  of  tea  and 
hunch  of  bread-and-butter  on  a  sack  of  pease  in  the  front  premises. 
I  considered  Mr.  Pumblechook  wretched  company.  Besides  being 
possessed  by  my  sister's  idea  that  a  mortifying  and  penitential 
character  ought  to  be  imparted  to  my  diet — besides  giving  me  as. 
much  crumb  as  possible  in  combination  with  as  little  butter,  and 
putting  such  a  quantity  of  warm  water  into  my  milk  that  it  would 
have  been  more  candid  to  have  left  the  milk  out  altogether — his 
conversation  consisted  of  nothing  but  arithmetic.  On  my  politely 
bidding  him  good-morning,  he  said,  pompously,  "  Seven  times  nine, 
boy  !  "  And  how  should  I  be  able  to  answer,  dodged  in  that  way, 
in  a  strange  place,  on  an  empty  stomach  !  I  was  hungry,  but  be- 
fore I  had  swallowed  a  morsel  he  began  a  running  sum  that  lasted 
all  through  the  breakfast.  "Seven?"  "And  four?"  "And 
eight  ?  "  "  And  six  ?  "  "  And  two  ?  "  "  And  ten  ?  "  And  so  on. 
And  after  each  figure  was  disposed  of,  it  was  as  much  as  I  could 
do  to  get  a  bite  or  a  sup  before  the  next  came  ;  while  he  sat  at  his 
ease  guessing  nothing  and  eating  bacon  and  hot  roll  in  (if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  expression)  a  gorging  and  gormandizing  manner. 

For  such  reasyns  I  was  very  glad  when  ten  o'clock  came  and 
we  started  for  Miss  Havisham's  ;  though  I  was  not  at  All  at  my 
case  regarding'  the  manner  in  which  I  should  acquaint  myself  un- 
der that  lady's  roof.  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  came  to 
Havisham's  house,  which  was  of  old  brick  and  dismal,  and 
had  a  great  many  iron  bars  to  it.  Some  of  the  windows  had  been 
walled  up  :  of  Those  that  remained  all  the  lower  were  rustily  barred. 
There  was  a  court-yard  in  front,  and  that  was  barred;  so  we  had 
to  wait,  after  ringing  the  bell,  until  some  one  should  come  to  open 
it.  While  we  waited  at  the  gate  I  peeped  in  (even  then  Mr.  Punr- 
blechook  said,  "  And  fourteen  ? "  but  I  pretended  not  to  hear  him), 
and  saw  that  at  the  side  of  the  house  there  was  a  large  brewery ; 
no  brewing  was  going  on  in  it,  and  none  seemed  to  have  gone  on 
for  a  hmg  long  time. 

A  window  was  raised,  and  a  clear  voice  demanded,  "What  name  ?" 
To  which  my  conductor  replied,  "  Pumblechook."  The  voice  re- 
turned, "Quite  right,"  and  the  window  was  shut  again,  and  a  young 
lady  came  across  the  onurt-vard  with  kevs  in  her  hand. 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  "  Is  Pip.". 

"  This  is  Pip,  is  it  ?  "  returned  the  young  lady,  who  was  very 
pretty  and  seemed  very  proud  ;  "  Come  in,  Pip." 

Mr.  Pumblechook  was-  coining  'in  also,  when  she  stopped  him 
with  the  gate. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said.     "  Did  you  wish  to  see  Miss  Havisham  ?" 

"  If  Miss  Havisham  wishes  .to  see  me,"  returned  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook, discomfit  ted. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  girl ;  "  but  vou  see  she  don't." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  45 

She  said  it  so  finally  and  in  such  an  indiscnsahlc  way,  that  Mr. 
Punibleohook,  though  in  a  condition   of  ruffled  dignity,  Gould  not 

protest.  But  lie  eyed  me  severely — as  if  1  had  done  anything 
to  him! — and  departed 'with  the  words  reproachfully  delivered: 
"Boy  !  let  your  behavior  here  be  a  oredil  unto  them  which  brought 
you  up  by  hand  !  "  1  was  not  free  from  apprehension  thai  he 
would  come  back  to  propound  through  the  gate)  "And  sixteen  I  " 
But  he  didn't. 

My  young  conductress  locked  the  gate,  and  we  went  jtomss  the 
court-yard.  It  was  puved  and  clean,  luit  grass  was  growing  in 
every  crevice.  The  brewery  buildings  had  a  little  lane  of  com- 
munication with  it,  and  the  wooden  gales  of  .that  lane  stood  open, 
and  all  the  brewery  beyond  stood  open,  away  to  the  high  enclosing 
wall,  and  all  was  empty  and  disused.  The  cold  wind  seemed  to 
blow  colder  there  than  outside  the  gate,  and  it  made  a  shrill  noise 
in  howling  in  and  out  at  the  open  sides  of  the  brewery,  like  the 
noise  of  wind  in  the,  rigging  of  a  ship  at  sea. 

She  saw  me  looking  at  ii.  and  she  said,  "You  could  drink  with- 
out hurt  all  the  strong  beer  that's  brewed  there  now,  boy." 

*'  I  should  think  1  could,  miss,"  said  I,  in  a  shy  way. 

"Better  not  try  to  brew  beer  there  now,  or  it  would  turn  out 
sour,  boy  ;  don't  you  think  so?'' 

"  It  looks  like  it,  miss." 

"Not  that  anybody  means  to  try,"  she  added,  "  for  that's  all 
done  with,  and  the  place  will  stand  as  idle  as  it  is  till  it  fails.  As 
to  strong  b  er,  there's  enough  of  it  in  the  cellars  already  to  drown 
the  Manor  House." 

"  Is  that  the  name  of.  this  house,  miss  ?  •■' 

"  One  of  its  names,  boy." 

"  It  has  more  than  one,  then,  miss  ?  " 

"One  more.  tts  other  name  was  Satis;  which  is  Greek,  or 
Latin,  or  Hebrew,  or  all  three — or  all  one  to  me — for  enough." 

"  Enough  House,"  said  1 ;  "  that's  a  curious  name,  miss." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  it  meant  more  than  it  said.  It  meant, 
when  it  was  given,  that  whoever  had  this  house  could  want  noth- 
ing else.  They  mutt  have  been  easily  satisfied  in  those  days  1 
should  think.     But  don't  loiter,  boy." 

Though  she  called  me  "  hoy  "  so  often,  ami  with'  a  carelessness 
was  far  from  complimentary, 'she  was  of  about  my  own  ;i 
or  very  little  older.     She  seemed  much  older  than  1,  of  course,  be- 
ing a  girl,  and  beautiful  and  self-]  '  :  and  she  was. as  scorn- 
ful of  me  as  if  she  had  been  oiie-aml-twenty,  and  a  queen. 

We  went  into  tin  house  by  a  side-door — the  great  front  entrance 
had  two  chains  across  it  ont.-ide— and  the  first  thing  I  noticed 
t  hat  the  passages  were  ;ill  dark,  and  t  hat  she  had  left  a  c  mile  burning 
there.     Sbt>  took  it  up.  and  wo  went  through  more  passages  and 


46  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

up  a  staircase,  and  still  it  was  all  dark-,  and  only  the  candle  lighted 
us. 

At  last  we  came  to  the  door  of  a  room,  and  she  said,  "  Go  in." 

I  answered,  more  in  shyness  than  politeness,  "After  yju,  miss." 

To  this,  she  returned  :  "  Don't  be  ridiculous,  boy  ;  I  am  not  go- 
ing* in."  And  scornfully  walked  away,  and — what  was  worse — 
took  the  candle  with  her. 

This  was  very  uncomfortable,  and  I  was  half  afraid.  However, 
the  oulf  thing  to  be  done  being  to  knock  at  the  door,  I  knocked, 
and  was  told  from  within  to  enter.  1  entered,  therefore,  and  found 
If  in  a  pretty  large  room  well  lighted  with  wax  candles.; — 
No  glimpse  of  daylight  was  to  be  seen  in  it.  It  was  a  dressing- 
room,  as  i  supposed  from  the  furniture,  though  much  of  it  was  of 
tonus  and  uses  then  quite  unknown  to  me.  But  prominent  in  it 
was  a  .draped  table  With  a  gilded  looking-glass,  and  that  1  made 
out  at  first  sight  to  be  a  line  lady's  dressiug-table. 

Whether  1  should  have  made  out  this  object  so  soon  if  there 
had  been  no  fine  lady  sitting  at  it  1  cannot  say.  In  an  arm-chair, 
with  an  elbow  resting  on  the  table  and  her  head  leaning  on  that 
hand,  sat  the  strangest  lady  I  have  ever  seen,  or  shall  ever  si 

She  was  dressed  in  rich  materials — satins,  and  lace,  and  silks — 
all  of  white.  Her  shoes  were  white.  And  she  had  a  long  white 
vail  dependent  from  her  hair,  and  she  had  bridal  11  wers  in  her 
hair,  but  her  hair  was  white.  .Some  bright  jewels  sparkled  on  her 
neck  and  on  her  hands,  and  some  other  jewels  lay  sparkling  on  the 
table.  Dresses,  less  splendid  than  the  dress  she  wore,  and  half- 
packed  trunks,  were  scattered  about.  fc>he  had  not  quite  finished 
dressing,  for  she  had  but  one  shoe  on — the  w  on  the  table 

near  her  baud — her  vail    was  but  half  arranged,  her  watch  and 
chain  were  not  put  on,  and  some  lace  for  her  bosom  lay  with  I 
trinkets,  and  with  her  handkerchief,  and  gloves,  and  sunn-  flowers, 
and  a  prayer-book,  all  confusedly  heaped  about  the  looking-glass. 

It  was  not  in  the  first  minute  that  I  saw  all  these  things,  th 
I  saw   more  of  them   in  the  first  minute    ban  might  he  supp 
13ut  i  saw  that   every  thing  within   my  view   which  ought  to  be 
white   had  been  white  long  ago,  and  had  lost  its  lustre,  and  was 
faded  and  yellow.     1  saw  that    the  bride  within  the  bridal  dress 
had  withered  like  the  dress,  and  like  the  llowers,  and  had' no  bright- 
ness  left   but  the  brightness  of 'her  sunken  eyes.     1  saw  that  the 
dress  had  been  put  upon  the  rounded  figure  of  a  young  woman,  and 
that  the  figure  upon  which  it  now  bung  loose  had  shrunk  to 
and  bone.     Once,  1  had  been  taken  to  see  some  ghastly  wax-work 
at  the.  Fair,  representing  1  know   not  what  impossible  personage 
lying  in  stale.     Once,  I  had   been  taken  to  oue  of  our  old  marsh 
churches  to  see  a  skeleton  in  the  ashes  vt'  a  rich  dress  that 
been  dug  out  of  a  vault  under  the  church  pavement.     2s ow,  wax- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  47 

work  and  skeleton  seemed  to  have  dark  eyes  that  moved  and  look- 
ed at  me.     I  should  have  cried  out  if  1  could. 
"  Who  is  it  V  said  the  lady  at  the  table. 

"  Pip,  ma'am." 
«  pip  t» 

"  Mr.  Pumblechook's  boy,  ma'am.     Come — to  play." 

"Come  nearer;  let  me  look  at  you.    Come  close." 

It  was  when  I  stood  before  her,  avoiding  her  eyes,  that  I  took 
note  of  the  surrounding  objects  in  detail,  and  saw  that  her  watch 
had  stopped  at  twenty  minutes  to  nine,  and  that  a  chick  in  the 
room  had  stopped  at  twenty  minutes  to  nine. 

"Look  at  me,"  said  Miss  llavisham.  "  Yon  are  not  afraid  of  a 
woman  who  has  ,  ever  seen  the  sun  since  you  were  horn  '." 

I  regret  to  state  that  I  was  not  afraid  of  telling  the  enormous  lie 
comprehended  in  the  answer, 

"  No." 

"Do  you  know  what  1  touch  here  V  she  said,  laying  her  hands, 
one  upon  the  other,  on  her  lefl  side*. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.".     (It  made  me  think  of  the  voting  man.) 

"  What  do  1  touch  r 

"  Your  heart." 

••  Broken  !" 

She  uttered  the  word  with  an  eager  look,  and  with  strong  em- 
phasis, and  witli  a  weird  smile  that  had  a  kind  of  boast  in  it.  Af- 
terward, she  kept  her  hands  there  for  a  little  while,  and  slowly 
took  them  away  as  if  they  were  heavy. 

"  1  am  tired,"  said  Miss  llavisham.  "  I  waut  diversion,  and  I 
have  done  with  men  and  women.     Play  !" 

I  think  it  will  be  conceded  by  my  most  disputatious  reader  that 
she  could  hardly  have  directed  an  unfortunate  boy  to  do  any  thing 
in  the  wide  world  more  difficult  to  be  done  under  the  circumstances. 

"I  sometimes  have  sick  fancies,"  she  went  on,  "and  1  have  a 
sick  fancy  that  1  want  to  see  some  play.     There,  there  !"  with  an 
impatient  movement  of  the  fingers  of  her  right  hand  ;  "  play,  play, 
•  play!"  '    . 

For  a  moment,  with  the  fear  of  my  sister's  working  me  before 
my  eyes,  I  had  a  desperate  idea  of  starting  round  the  room  in  the 
assumed  character  of  Mr.  Pumblechook's  chaise-cart.  But  J  felt 
myself  so  unequal  to  the  performance  that  I  gave  it  up,  and  stood 
looking  at  Mi^s  llavisham  in  what  1  suppose  she  took  for  a  dog- 
ged manner,  inasmuch  as  she  said,  when  we  had  taken  a  good  look 
at  each  other : 

"Are  you  sullen  and  obstinate?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  1  am  very  sorry  for  you,  and  very  sorry  I  can't 
play  just  now.  If  you  complain  of  me  1  shall  get  into  trouble  with 
my  sister,  so  I  would  do  it  if  I  could  ;  but  it's  so  new  here,  and  so 
strange,  and  so  fine — and  melancholy — "      I  stopped^  fearing  I 


48  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

might  say  too  much,  or  had  already  said  it,  and  we  took  another 
look  at  each  other. 

Before  she  spoke  again  she  turned  her  eyes  from- me  and  looked 
at  the  dress  she  wore,  and  at  the  dressing  table,  and  finally  at  her- 
self in  the  looking-glass. 

"  So  new  to  him,"  she  muttered,  "  so  old  to  me  ;  so  strange  to 
'him,  so  familiar  to  me;  so  melancholy  to  both  of  us  !  Call  Es- 
telra." 

As  she  was  still  looking  at  the  reflection  of  herself,  I  thought 
she  was  still  talking  to  herself,  and  kept  quiet. 

"  Call  Eslella,"  she  repeated,  flashing  a  look  at  me.  "  You  can 
do  that.     Call  Estella.     At  the  door." 

To  stand  in  the  dark. in  a  mysterious  passage  of  an  unknown 
house  bawling  Estella  to  a  scornful  young  lady  neither  visible  nor 
responsive,  and  feeling  it  a  dreadful  liberty  so  to  roar  out  her  name, 
was  almost  as  bad  as  playing  to  order.  But  she  answered  at  last, 
and  her  light  came  along  the  dark  passage  like  a  star. 

Miss  Havisham  beckoned  her  to  come  close,  and  took  up  a  jewel 
from  the  table,  and  tried  its  effect  upon  her  fair  young  bosom  and 
against  her  pretty  brown  hair.  "Your  own,  one  day,  my  dear,  and 
you  will  use  it  well.     Let  me  see  you  play  cards  with  this  boy." 

"  With  this  boy  !     Why,  he  is  a  common  laboring  boy  !" 

I  thought  I  overheard  .Miss  Havisham  answer — only  it  seemed 
so  unlikely — "  Well  ?     You  can  break  his  heart." 

"  What  do  you  play,  boy  I"  asked  Estella  of  myself,  with  the 
greatest  disdain. 

"  Nothing  but  beggar  my  neighbor,  miss." 

"Beggar  him,'  said  Miss- Havisham  to  Estella.  So  we  sat 
down  to  cards. 

It  was  then  I  began  to  understand  that  every  tiling  in  the  room 
had  stopped,  like  the  watch  and  the  clock,  a  long  time  ago.  I  no- 
ticed that  Miss  Havisham  put  down  the  jewel  exactlyon  the  spot 
from  which  she  had  taken  it  up.  As  Estella  dealt  the  cards  J 
glance;!  at  the  dressing-table  again,  and  saw  that  the  shoe  upon  it, 
once  white,  now  yellow,  had  never  been  worn.  I  glanced  down  at 
the  foot  from  which  the  s  oe  was  abseut,  and  saw  that  the  silk 
stocking  on  it,  once  white,  now  yellow,  had  been  trodden  ragged. 
Without  this  arrest  of  every  thing,  this  standing  still  of  all  the 
pale  decayed  objects,  not  even  the  withered  bridal  dress  on  the 
collapsed  form  could  have  looked  so  like  grave-clothes,  or  the  long 
vail  so  like  a  shroud. 

So  she  sat  corpse-like,  as  we  played  at  cards  :  the  frilluags  and 
trimmings  on  her  bridal  dress  looking  like  earthy  paper,  as  if  they 
would  crumble  under  a  touch.  I  knew  nothing  then  of  the  dis- 
coveries that  are  occasionally  made  of  bodies  buried  in  ancient 
times,  which  fall  to  powder  in  the  moment  of  being  distinctly  seen; 
but  I  have  often  thought  since  that  she  must  have  looked  as  if  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  4* 

admission  of  the  natural  light  of  day  would  have  struck  her  to  dust. 
"He  calls  the  knaves  Jacks,  this  hoy  ?"  said  Estella,  with  dis- 
dain, before  our  game  was  out.      "  And  what  coarse  hands  he  has. 
And  what  thick  boots.'' 

I  bad  never  thought  of  being  ashamed  of  my  hands  before;  but 
I  began  to  consider. them  a  very  indifferent  pair.  Her  contempt 
was  so  strong  that  it  became  infectious,  and  I  caught  it. 

She  won  the  game,  and  T  dealt.  I  misdealt,  as  w  is  only  na- 
tural, when  I  knew  she  was  lying  in  wait  for  me  to  do  wrong,  and 
she  denounced  me  for  a  stupid,  clumsy  laboring  boy. 

"  You  say  nothing  of  her,"  remarked   Hiss  Havisham  to  me  as 
she  looked  on.     "  She  says  many  hard  things  of  you,  but  you  say 
nothing  other.     Whal  do  you  think  of  her  1" 
"  I  don't  like  to  say,"  I  stammered. 

V  Tell  me  in  my  ear,"  said  Miss  Havisham,  bending  down. 
"  I  think  she  is  very  proud.'*  I  replied,  in  a  whisper. 
"  Any  thing  else 
"  I  think  she  is  very  pretty.'' 
"  Any  thing  else  ?" 

"  1  think  she  is  very  insulting."     (She  was  looking  at  me,  then, 
with  a  look  of  supreme  aversion.) 
"Any  thing  else  V 
"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  home." 
"  And  never  see  her  again,  though  she  is  so  pretty  ?  " 
"I  am  not    sure  thai  I  should  not  like  to  see  her  again,  but  I 
should  like  to  gb  home  now." 

"You  shall  go  soon,"  said  Miss  Havisham,  aloud.  "Play  the 
game  out." 

Saving  for  the  one  weird  smile  at  first,  I  should  have  felt  aln 
sure  that  Miss  Havisham's  face  could  not  smile.  It  had  dropped 
into  a  watchful  and  brooding  expression — most,  likely  when  all  the  ' 
things  about  her  had  become  transfixed — and  it  looked  as  if  noth- 
ing could,  ever  lift  it  up  any  more.  Her  chest  had  dropj  ed,  so  that 
she  stooped  :  and  her  voice  had  dropped,  so  that  she  spoke  low, 
and  with  a  dead  lull  upon  her;  altogether  she  had  the  appearance 
of  having  dropped,  body  and  soul,  within  and  without,  under  the 
weight  of  a  crushing  blow. 

1  played  the  game  to  an  end  with  Estella,  and  she  beggared  me. 
She  threw  the  c^rds  down  on  the  table  when  she  had  won  them  all, 
as  if  she  despised  them  for  having  been  won  of  me. 

"  When  shall  I  have  you  here  again'?  "  said  Miss  Havisham. — 
"  Let  me  think." 

I  was.  beginning  to  remind  her  that  to-day  was  Wednesday,  when 
she  checked  me  with  her  former  impatient  movement  of  the  fingers 
of  her  right  hand. 

"  There,  there  !  I  know  nothing  of  days  of  the  week  ;  1  know 
4 


50  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

nothing  of  weeks  of  the  year.  Come  again  after  three  days.  You 
hear  1 " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Estella,  take  him  down.  Let  him  have  something  to  eat,  and 
let  him  roam  and  look  about  him  while  he  eats, it.     Go,  Pip." 

I  followed  the  candle  down  as  I  had  followed  the  candle  up,  and 
she  stood  it  in  the  place  where  we  had  found  it.  Until  she  opened  the 
side  entrance  I  had  fancied,  without  thinking  about  it,  that  it  must  ne- 
cessarily be  night  time.  The  rush  of  the  daylight  quite  confounded 
me,  and  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  candle-light  of  the 
strange  room  many  hours. 

"  You  are  to  wait  here,  you  boy,"  said  Estella,  and  disappeared 
and  closed  the  door. 

I  took  the  opportunity  of  being  alone  in  the  courtyard  to  look 
at  my  coarse  hands  and  my  common  hoots.  My  opinion  of  those 
accessories  was  not  favorable.  They  had  never  troubled  me 
before,  but  they  troubled  me  now,  as  vulgar  appendages.  1  deter- 
mined to  ask  Joe  why  he  had  ever  taught  me  to  call  those  picture- 
cards  Jacks  which  ought  to  be  called  knaves.  I  wished  Joe  had 
been  rather  more  geuteely  brought  up,  and  then  1  should  have  been 
so  too. 

She  came  back  with  some  bread  and  meat  and  a  little  mug  of 
beer.  She  put  the  mug  down  on  the  stones  of  the  yard,  and  gave 
me  the  bread  and  meat  without  looking  at  me,  as  insolently  as  if 
i  were  a  dog.  I  was  so  humiliated,  hurt,  spurned,  offended,  angry, 
sorry — I  cannot  hit  upon  the  right  name  for  the  sn^irt — God  knows 
what  its  name  was — that  tears  started  to  my  eyes.  The  moment 
they  sprang  there  the  girl  looked  at  me  with  a  quick  delight  iu 
having  been  the  cause  of  them.  It  gave  me  power  to  force  them 
back  and  to  look  at  her;  so  she  gave  a  contemptuous  toss — but 
with  a  sense,  I  thought,  of  having  made  too  sure  that  I  was  so 
wounded — and  left  me. 

But  when  she  was  gone  I  looked  about  me  for  a  place  to  hide 
my  face  in,  and  got  behind  one  of  the  gates  in  the  brewery  lane, 
and  leaned  my  sleeve  against  the  wall  there,  and  leaned  my  fore- 
head on  it  and  cried.  As  I  cried  I  kicked  tiie  wall  and  took  a  hard 
twist  at  my  hair  ;  so  bitter  were  my  feelings,  and  so  sharp  was  the 
smart  without  a  name,  that  needed  counteraction. 

My  sister's  bringing  up  had  made  me  sensitive.  In  the  little 
world  in  which  children  have  their  existence,  whosoever  brings 
them  up.  1  am  convinced  there  is  nothing  so  finely  perceived  and 
so  finely  felt  as  injustice.  It  may  be  only  small  injustice  that  the  child 
can  be  exposed  to  ;  but  the  child  is  small,  and  its  world  is  small,  and 
iis  rocking-hor.se  stands  as  many  hands  high,  according  to  scale,  as  a 
big-boned  Irish  hunter.  Within  myself  I  had  sustained  from  my  baby- 
hood a  perpetual  conflict  with  injustice.  I  had  known  from  the  time 
when  I  could  speak  that  my  sister,  in  her  capricious  aDd  violent  co- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  51 

i 

ercipn,  was  unjust  to  me.  I  had  cherished  a  profound  conviction 
that  her  bringing  rue  up  by  hand  gave  her  no  right  to  bring  me  up 
by  jerks.  Through  all  ray  punishments,  disgraces, fasts*,  and  vigils, 
and  other  penitential  performances,!  had  nursed  this  assurance; 

and  to  my  communing  so  much  with  it,  in  a  solitary  and  unpro- 
tected way,  I,  in  great  part,  refer  the  fact  that  I  was  morally  timid 
and  very  sensitive. 

I  got  rid  of  my  injured  feelings  for  the  time  by  kicking  them  in- 
to the  brewery  wall,  and  twisting  them  out  of  my  hair,  and  then  I 
Smoothed  my  face  with  my  sleeve  and  came  from  behind  the  gate. 
The  bread  and  meal  were  acceptable,  and  the  beer  was  warming 
and  tingling,  and  I  was  soon  in  spirits  to  look  about  me. 

To  be  sure  it  was  a  deserted  place,  down  to  the  pigeon-house  in 
the  brewery-yard,  which  bad  been  blown  crooked  on  its  pole  by 
some  high  wind,  and  would  have  made  the  pigeons  think  themselves 
at  sea,  if  there  bad  beenVuiy  pigeons  there  to  be  rocked  by  it. — 
But  there  were  tip  pigeons  in  the  dove-cot,  no  horses  in  the  stable, 
no  pigs  in  the  sty,  no  malt  in  the  storehouse,  no  smells  of  grains 
and  beer  in  the  copper  or  the  vat.  All  the  uses  and  scents  of  the 
brewery  might  have  evaporated  with  its  last  reek  of  smoke.  In  a 
by-yard  there  was  a  wilderness  of  empty  casks,  which  bad  a  cer- 
tain sour  remembrance  of  better  days  lingering  about  them  ;  but  it 
was  too  sour  to  be  accepted  as  a  sample  of  the  beer  that  was 
gOne — and  in  this  respect  I  remember  those  recluses  as  being  like 
most  others. 

Behind  the  farthest  end  of  the  brewery  was  a  rank  garden 
with  an  old  red  wall :  not  so  high  but  that  I  could  struggle  up  and 
hold  on  long  enough  to  look  over  it,  and  see  that  the  rank  garden 
was  the  garden  of  the  house,  and  that  it  wTas  overgrown  with  tan- 
gled weeds,  but  that  there  was  a  track  upon  the  green  and  yellow 
paths, 'as  if  some  one  sometimes  walked  there,  and  that  Estell 
walking  away  from  me  even  then.  But  she  seemed  to  bo  every- 
where. For  when  1  yielded  to  the  temptation  presented  by  the 
casks,  and  began  to  walk.  on.  them,  I  saw  her  walking  on  them  at 
the  end  of  the  yard  of  casks.  She  had  her  back  to  me,  and  held 
her  pretty  brown  hair  spread  out  in  her  two  hands,  and  never 
looked  round,  and  passed  out  of  my  view  directly.  So  in  the  brew- 
ery itself — by  which  I  mean  the  large  paved  lofty  place  in  which 
they  used  to  make  the  beer,  and  where  the  brewing  utensils  still 
were.  When  1  first  went  into  it,  and,  rather  oppressed  by  iis 
gloom,  stood  near  the  door  looking  about  me,  I  saw  her  pass  among 
the  extinguished  tires,  and  ascend  some  light  iron  stairs,  and  go  out 
by  an  iron  gallery  high  overhead,  as  if  she  were  going  out  into  the 
sky. 

It  was  in  this  place,  and  at  this  moment,  that  a  strange  thing 
happened  to  my  fancy.  I  thought  it  a  strange  thing  then,  and  I 
thought  it  stranger  long  afterward.    I  turned  my  eyes — a  little 


52  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

dimmed  by  looking  up  at  £he  frosty  light — toward  a  great  wooden 
beam  in  a  low  notfc  of  the  building  near  me  on  my  right  band,  and 
I  saw  a  figure  hanging  there  by  the  neck.  A  figure  .all  in  yellow 
white,  with  but  one  shoe  to  the  feet ;  and  it  hung  so  that  I  could 
see  that  the  faded  trimmings  of  the  dress  were  like  earthy  paper, 
and  that  the  face  was  Miss  Havis ':am's,  with  the  eyes  open,  and 
with  a  movement  going  over  the  whole  countenance  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  call  to  me.  In  the  terror  of  seeing  the  figure,  and  in 
the  terror  of  being  certain  that  it  had  not  been  there  a  moment 
before,  I  at  first  ran  from  it,  and  then  ran  toward  it.  And  my 
terror  was  greatest  of  all  when  I  found  no  figure  there. 

Nothing  less  than  the  frosty  light  of  the  cheerful  sky,  the  sight 
of  people  passing  beyond  the  bars  of  the  court-yard  gate,  and  The 
reviving  influence  of  the  rest  of  the  bread  and  meat  and  beer, 
would  have  brought  me  round.  Even  with  those  aids  I  might  not 
have  come  to  my  self  as  soon  as  I  did,  but  that  I  saw  Estella  ap- 
proaching with  the  keys  to  let  me  out.  She  would  have  some  fair 
reason  for  looking  down  upon  me,  I  thought,  if  she  saw  me  fright- 
ened ;  and  she  should  have  no  fair  reason. 

She  gave  me  a  triumphant  glance  in  passing  me,  as  if  she  re- 
joiced that  my  hands  were  so  coarse  and  my  boots  were  so  thick, 
and  she  opened  the  gate  and  stood  holding  it.  I  was  passing  out 
without  looking  at  her,  when  she  touched  me  with  a  taunting 
hand. 

"  Why  don't  you  cry  1 "  said  she. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to,"  said  I. 

"You  do,"  said  she.  "You  have  been  crying,  and  you  are 
near  crying  again." 

She  laughed  contemptuously,  pushed  me  out,  and  locked  the 
gate  upon  me.  I  went  straight  to  Mr.  Pumblechook's,  and  was 
immensely  relieved  to  find  him  not  at  home.  So  leaving  word 
with  the  shopman  on  what  day  I  was  wanted  at  Miss  Havisham's 
again,  I  set  off  on  the  four-mile  walk  to  our  forge;  pondering,  as 
1  went  along,  on  all  I  had  seen,  and  deeply  revolving  that  I  was 
a  common  laboring  boy,  that  my  hands  were  coarse,  that  my  boots 
were  thick,  that  1  had  fallen  into  a  despicable  habit  of  calling 
knaves  Jacks,  that  I  was  much  more  ignorant  than  I  had  consid- 
ered myself  last  night,  and,  on  the  whole,  that  I  was  in  a  low- 
lived bad  way. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  5S 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WnF\  I  reached  home  my  sister  was  very  curious  to  know  all 
about  Miss  Havisharo's,  aud  asked  a  number  of  questions.  And 
I  soon  found  myself  getting  heavily  bumped  in  the  nape  of  the 
neck  and  the  small  of  the  hack,  and  having  my  face  ignominiously 

shoved  against  the  kitchen  wall,  because  I  did  not  answer  those 
questions  at  sufficient  length. 

If  a  dread  of  not  being  understood  be  hidden  in  the  breas; 
other  young  people  to  any  thing  like  the  extent  to  which  it  used  to 
be  hidden  in  tniue — which  I  consider  probable,  as  I  have  no  par- 
ticular reason  to  suspect  myself  of  having  been  a  monstrosity — ir 
ia  the  key  to  many  reservations.  I  felt  convinced  that  if  I  de- 
scribed Miss  Havisham's  as  my  eyes  had  seen  it,  I  should  noi  be 
understood.  Not  only  that,  but  I  felt  convinced  that  Miss  Havi- 
sham  too  would  not  be  understood;  and  although  she  was  perfect- 
ly incomprehensible  to  me,  1  entertained  an  impression  that  there 
wduld  be  something  coarse  and  treacherous  in  my  dragging  her 
(to  say  nothing  of  Miss  Estella)  before  the  contemplation  of  Mrs. 
Joe.  Consequently,  I  said  as  little  as  I  could,  and  bad  my  face 
shoved  against  the  kitchen  wall. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  that  bullying  old  Pumblechook,  preyed 
upon  by  a  devouring  curiosity  to  be  informed  of  all  I  had  seen  and 
heard,  came  gaping  over  in  his  chaise-cart  at  tea-time  to  have  the 
details  divulged  to  him.  And  the  mere  sight  of  the  torment,  with 
his  fishy  eyes  and  mouth  open,  his  sandy  hair  inquisitively  on  end. 
and  his  waistcoat  heaving  with  windy  arithmetic,  made  me  vicious 
in  my  reticence. 

"  Well,  buy,"  Uncle  Pumblechook  began,  as   soon  as  he  was 
■1  in  the  chair  of  honor  by  the  fire.-    "  How  did  you  get  on  up 
town?" 

I  answered,  "  Pretty  well,  Sir,"  and  my  sister  shook  her  fist 
at  me. 

"  Pretty  well?"  Mr.  Pumblechook  repeated.  "Pretty  well  is 
no  answer.     Tell  us  what  you  mean  by  pretty  well,  boy?" 

Whitewash  on  the  forehead  hardens  the  brain  into  a  state  of 
obstinacy,  perhaps.  Any  how,  with  whitewash  from  the  wall  on 
my  forehead,  my  obstinacy  was  adamantine.  I  reflected  for  some 
lime,  and  then  answered,  "  I  mean  pretty  well." 

My  sister,  with  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  was  going  to  fly 
at  me — I  had  no  shadow  of  detence,  for  Joe  was  busy  in  the  forge 
— when  Mr.  Pumblechook    interposed    with,  "No!     Don't  loso 


i 


54  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

your  temper.  Leave  this  lad  to  me,  ma'am  ;  leave  this  lad  to 
me."  Mr.  Pumhlechook  then  turned  me  toward  him,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  cut  my  hair  or  take  out  one  of  my  teeth,  or  perform 
some  such  operation,  and  said: 

"  First  (to  get  our  thoughts  in  order) :  Forty-three  pence?" 

I  calculated  the  consequence  of  replying  "  Four  Hundred 
Pound,"  and,  finding  them  against  me,  went  as  near  the  answer 
as  I  could — which  was  somewhat  about  eightpence  off.  Mr.  Pum- 
hlechook then  put  me  through  my  pence-table  from  "  twelve  pence 
make  one  shilling,"  up  to  "  forty  pence  make  three-and-four 
pence,"  and  then  triumphantly  demanded,  as  if  he  had  done  for 
me,  "  Now !  How  much  is  forty-three  pence?"  To  which  I  re- 
plied, after  a  long  interval  of  reflection,  "  I  don't  know."  And  I 
was  so  aggravated  that  I  almost  doubt  if  I  did  know. 

Mr.  Pumhlechook  worked  his  head  like  a  screw  to  screw  it  out 
of  me,  and  said,  "  Is  forty-thres  pence  .seven  and  sixpence  three 
fardens,  for  instance?" 

"  Yes  !"  said  I.  And  although  my  sister  instantly  boxed  my 
ears,  it  was  highly  gratifying  to  me  to  see  that  the  answer  spoilt 
his  joke,  and  brought  him  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Boy  !  What  like  is  Miss  Havisham  ?"  Mr.  Pumhlechook  be- 
gan again  when  he  had  recovered  ?  folding  his  arms  tight  on  his 
chest  and  applying  the  screw.  • 

"  Very  tall  and  dark,"  I  told  him. 

"  Is  she,  uncle?". asked  my  sister. 

Mr.  Pumhlechook  winked  assent;  from  which  I  at  once  infer- 
red i  hat  he  had  never  seen  Miss  Havisham,  for  she  was  nothing  of 
the  kind. 

"Good!"  said  Mr.  Pumhlechook,  conceitedly.  "This  is  the 
way  to  have  him !  We  are  beginning  to  hold  our  own,  I  think, 
Mum  ?" 

"  I  am  sure,  uncle,"  returned  Mrs.  Joe,  "  I  wish  you  had  him 
always  ;  you  know  so  well  how  to  deal  with  him." 

"  Now,  boy  !  What  was  she  a  doing  of  when  you  went  in  to- 
day ?"  asked  Mr.  Pumhlechook. 

"  She  was  sitting,"  I  answered,  "  in  a  black  velvet  coach." 

Mr.  Pumblechook  and  Mrs.  Joe  stared  at  one  another — as  they 
well  might — and  both  repeated,  "  In  a  black  velvet  coach  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "And  Miss  Estella — that's  her  niece,  1  think 
— handed  her  in  cake  and  wine  at  the  coach  window,  on  a  gold 
plate.  And  we  all  had  cake  and  wine  on  gold  plates.  And  1  got 
up  behind  the  coach  to  eat  mine,  because  she  told  u.e  to." 

"  Was  any  body  else  there  ?"  asked  Mr.  Pumblechook. 

"  Four  dogs,"  said  I. 

"  Large  or  small  ?" 

"  Immense,"  said  I.  "  And  they  fought  for  veal  cutlets  out  of 
a  silver  basket." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  55 

Mr.  Pumhlechook  and  Mrs.  Joe  stared  at  one  another  again,  in 
utter  amazement.  I  was  perfectly  frantic — a  reckless  witness  un- 
der the    orture — and  would  have  told  them  any  thing. 

"  Where  was  this  coach,  in  the  name  of  gracious  !"  asked  my 
sister. 

"  In  Miss  Ilavisham's  room."  They  stared  again.  "  But  there 
weren't  any  horses  to  it."  I  added  this  saving  clause,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  rejecting  four  richly  caparisoned  coursers  which  I  had  had 
wild  thoughts  of  harnessing. 

"  Can  this  he  possible,  uncle?"  asked  Mrs.  Joe.  "What  can 
the  boy  mean  .'" 

"  Fll  tell  you,  Mum,"  said  Mr.  Pumhlechook.  "  My  opinion  is, 
it's  a  sedan-chair.  She's  flighty,  yon  know — very  flighty — quite 
flighty  enough  to  pass  her  days  in  a  sedan-chair." 

••  Did  you  ever  see  her  in  it,  uncle  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Joe. 

"  How  could  I  ?"  he  returned,  forced  to  the  admission,  "  when 
I  never  see  her  in  my  life  ?      Never  clapped  eyes  upon  her  }" 

"  Goodness,  uncle  !     And  yet.  you  have  spoken  to  her?" 

"  Why.  don't  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Pumhlechook,  testily,  "  that 
when  I  have  been  there  I  have  been  took  up  to  the  outside  of  her 
door,  and  the  door  has  stood  ajar,  and  she  has  spoken  to  me  thai 
way.  Don't  say  that  you  don't  know  that,  Mum.  Howsoever, 
the  boy  went  there  to  play.     What  did  you  play  at,  boy  ?" 

"  We  played  with  flags,"  1  said.  (I  beg  to  observe  that  I  think 
of  myself  with  amazement,  when  I  recall  the  lies  I  told  on  this 
occasion.) 

"Flags!"  echoed  my  sister. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  Estella  waved  a  blue  flag,  and  I  waved  a  red 
one,  and  Miss  llavisham  waved  one  sprinkled  all  over  with  little 
gold  stars,  out  at  the  coach  window.  Atid  then  we  all  waved  our 
swords  and  hurrahed." 

'•  Swords  !"  repeated  my  sister.  ■«  Where  did  you  get  swords 
from  ?" 

"  Out  of  a  cupboard,"  said  I.  "  And  I  saw  pistols  in  it — and 
jam — and  pills.  And  there  was  no  daylight  in  the  room,  but  it 
was  all  lighted  up  with  candles." 

"  That's  true,  Mum,"  said  Mr.  Pumbleehook,  with  a  grave  nod. 
"That's  the  state  of  the  case,  for  that  much  I've  seen  myself." 
And  then  they  both  stared  at  me,  and  I  with  ah  obtrusive  show  of 
artlessness  on  my  countenance  stared  at  them,  and  plaited  the 
right  leg  of  my  trowsers  with  my  right  hand. 
.  If  they  had  asked  me  any  more  questions  I  should  undoubtedly 
have  betrayed  myself,  for  T  was  even  then  on  the  point  of  men- 
tioning that  there  was  a  balloon  in  the  yard,  and  should  have  haz- 
arded the  statement  but  for  my  mind  being  divided  between  that 
phenomenon"and  a  bear  in  the  brewery.  They  were  so  much  oc- 
cupied, however,  in  discussing  the  marvels  I  had  already  present- 


I 


5G  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ed  for  their  consideration  that  I  escaped.  The  subject  still  held 
them  when  Joe  came  in  from  his  work  to  have  a  cup  of  tea,  to 
■whom  my  sister,  more  for  the  relief  of  her  own  mind  than  for  the 
gratification  of  his,  related  my  pretended  experiences.' 

Now  when  I  saw  Joe  open  his  blue  eyes  and  roll  them  round 
the  kitchen  in  helpless  astonishment,  I  was  overtaken  by  peni- 
tence ;  but  only  as  regarded  him — not  in  the  least  as  regarded  the 
other  two.  Toward  Joe,  and  Joe  only,  I  considered  myself  a 
young  monster,  while  they  sat  debating  what  results  would  come 
to  me  from  Miss  Havisham's  acquaintance  and  favor.  They  bad 
no  doubt  that  Miss  Havisham  would  "do  something"  for  me; 
their  doubts  related  to  the  form  that  something  would  take.  My 
sister  stood  out  "  for  property."  Mr.  Pumblechook  was  in  favor 
of  a  handsome  premium  for  binding  me  apprentice  to  some  genteel 
trade — say,  the  corn  and  seed  trade  for  instance.  Joe  fell  into  the 
deepest  disgrace  with  both,  for  offering  the  bright  suggestion  that 
I  might  only  be  presented  with  one  of  the  dogs  who  had  fought 
for  the  veal-cutlets.  "If  a  fool's  head  can't  express  better  opin- 
ions than  that,"  said  my  sister,  "  and  you  have  got  any  work  to 
do,  you  had  better  go  and  do  it."     So  he  went. 

After  Mr.  Pumblechook  had  driven  off,  and  when  my  sister  was 
washing  up,  I  stole  into  the  forge  to  Joe,  and  remained  by  him 
until  lie  had  done  for  the  night.  Then  I  said,  "Before  the  fire 
goes  qtiite  out,  Joe,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  something." 

"  Should  vou,  Pip  t"  said  Joe,  drawing  his  shoeing-stool  near 
the  forge.     "  Then  tell  us.     What  is  it,  Pip  ?" 

"Joe,"  said  I,  taking  hold  ot  his  rolled  up  shirt-sleeve,  and 
twisting  it  between  my  finger  and  thumb,  ".you  remember  all 
that  about  Miss  Havisham's  ?" 

"  Remember?'"  said  Joe.     "  I  believe  you  !     Wouderful !" 

"  It's  a  terrible  thing,  Joe  ;  it  an't  true." 

"  What  are  you  telling  of,  Pip  ?,"  cried  Joe,  falling  back  in  the 
greatest  amazement.     "  You  don't  mean  to  say  it's — " 

"  Yes  I  do  ;  it's  lies,  Joe." 

"But  not  all  of  it?  Why  sure  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Pip, 
that  there  was  no  black  welwetco — eh?"  Fori  stood  shaking 
my  head.  "  But  at  least  there  was  dogs,  Pip.  Come,  Pip,"  said 
Joe,  persuasively,  "if  there  warn't.no  weal-cutlets,  at  least  there 
was  dogs  '.'" 

"No,  Joe."  • 

"  A  dog  ?"  said  Joe.     "  A  puppy  ?     Come  V 

"  Uo,  Joe,  there  was  nothing  at  all  of  the  kind." 

As  I  fixed  my  eyes  hopelessly  on  Joe,  Joe  contemplated  me  in 
dismay.  "Pip,  old  chap!  this  won't  do,  old  fellow!  I  say! 
where  do  you  expect  to  go  to  ?" 

"  It's  terrible,  Joe ;  an't  it  ?" 

"  Terrible?"  cried  Joe.     "  Awfu! !     What  possessed  you?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  57 

"  I  don't  know  what  possessed  ine,  Joe,"  I  replied,  letting  his 
shirt-sleeve  go,  and  sitting  down  in  the  ashes  at  his  feet,  banging 
my  head  ;  "but  I  wish  you  hadn't  taught  me  to  call  Knaves  ai 
cards  Jacks;  and  I  wish  my  boots  weren't  so  thick  nor  my  hands 
so  coarse." 

And  then  I  told  Joe  that  I  felt  very  miserable,  and  that  I 
hadn't  been  able  to  explain  myself  to  Mrs.  Joe  and  Pumble- 
chook,  who  were  so  rude  to  me,  and  that  there  had  been  i  beauti- 
ful young  lady  at  Miss  Havishani's  who  was  dreadfully  proud, 
and  that  she  had  said  I  was  common,  and  that  1  knew  I  was  com- 
mon, and  that  1  wished  I  was  noi  common,  and  that  the  lies  had 
come  of  it,  somehow,  though  I  didn't  know  how. 

This  was  a  case  of  metaphysics,  a  least,  as  difficult  for  Joe  to 
deal  with  as  for  me.  But  Joe  took  the  case  altogether  out  of  the 
region  of  metaphysics,  and  by  that  means  got  the  better  of  it. 

"There's  one  thing  you  may  be  sure  of,  Tip,"  said  Joe,  after 
some  rumination,  "namely,  that  lies  is  lies.  However  they  come, 
they  didn't  ought  to  come, and  they  come  from  the  father^  of  lies,  and 
work  round  to  the  same.  Don't  you  tell  no  more  of  'em.  Pip. 
That  ain't  the  way  to  get  out  of  being  common,  old  chap.  And 
as  to  being  common,  I  don't  make  it  out  at  all  clear.  Vou  are 
oiicommoii  in  some  things.  You're  oncommon  small.  Likewise 
you're  an  oncommon  scholar." 

"  No,  1  am  ignorant  and  backward,  Joe.' 

"  "Why.  see  what  a  letter  you  wrote  last,  night.  Wrote  in  print 
even!  L've  seen  letters — Ah!  and  from  gentlefolks  I — that  I'll 
swear  weren't  wrote  in  print,"  said  .Joe. 

"  1  have  learned  next  to  nothing,  Joe.  Vou  think  much  of  me. 
It's  only  that." 

"  Well,  Pip,"  said  Joe,  "lie  it  so  or  be  it  son't,  you  must  lie  a 
common  scholar  afore  you  can  be  an  oncommon  one,  1  should 
hope!  The  king  upon"  his  throne,  with  his  crown  upon  his  ed, 
can't  sit  and  write  his  acts  of  Parliament  in  print,  without  having 
.begun,  when  he  were  a  unpromoted  Prince,  with  the  alphabet — 
Ah  !"  added  Joe,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  that  was  full  of  mean- 
ing, "and  begun  at  A  too,  and  worked  his  way  to  Z.  And  / 
know  What  that  is  to  do,  though  I  can't  say  I've  done  it." 

There  was  some  hope  in  this  piece  of  wisdom,  and  it  rather 
encouraged   me. 

"  Whether  common  ones  as  to  callings  and  earnings,"  pursued 
JpeT  reflectively,  "mightn't  be  the  better  of  continuing  for  to  keep 
company  with  common  ones,  instead  of  going  out.  to  play  with  on- 
common  ones — :which  reminds  me  to  hope  that  there  were  a  Hag 
perhaps  ?"      . 

"  No.   J 

"  (I'm  sorry  then  weren't  a  Hag,  Pip.]  Whether  that  might  be 
or  mightn't,  be;  is  a  thing  as  can't  he  looked  into  now,  without  put- 


58  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ting  your  sister  on  the  Rampage  ;  and  that's  a  thing  not  to  be 
thought  of  as  being  done  intentional.  Lookee  here,  Pip,  at  what 
is  said  to  you  by  a  true  friend.  Which  this  to  you  the  true  friend 
say.  If  you  can't  get  to  the  oncommon  through  going  straight, 
you'll  never  do  it  through  going  crooked.  So  don't  tell  no  more 
on  'em,  Pip,  and  live  well  and  die  happy." 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Joe  1" 

"  No,  old  chap.  But  bearing  in  mind  that  them  were  which  I 
meantersay  of  a  stunning  and  thundering  sort — alluding  to  them 
which  bordered  on  weal-cutlets  and  dog-lighting — a  sincere  well- 
wisher  would  adw.ise,  Pip,  their  being  dropped  into  your  medita- 
tions when  you  go  upstairs  to  bed.  That's  all,  old  chap,  and 
don't  never  do  it  no  more." 

When  I  got  up  to  my  little  room,  and  said  my  prayers,  I  did 
not  forget  Joe's  recommendation",  and  yet  my  young  mind  was  in 
that  disturbed  and  unthankful  state,  that  I  thought  long  after  I 
laid  me  down,  how  common  Estella  would  consider  Joe,  a  mere 
blacksmith  ;  how  thick  his  boots,  and  how  coarse  his  hands.  I 
thought  how  Joe  and  my  sister  were  then  sitting  in  the  kitchen, 
and  how  I'd  come  up  to  bed  from  the  kitchen,  and  how  Miss 
Havisbam  and  Estella  never  sat  in  a  kitchen,  but  were  far  above 
the  level  of  such  common  doings.  1  fell  asleep  recalling  what  I 
"  used  to  do"  when  I  was  at  Miss  Ilavisham's  ;  as  though  I  had 
been  there  weeks  or  mouths,  instead  of  hours,  and  as  though  it 
were  quite  an  old  subject  of  remembrance,  instead  of  one  that  had 
arisen  only  that  day. 

That  was  a  memorable  day  for  me,  for  it  made  great  changes  in 
me  and  in  my  fortunes.  But  it  is  the  same  with  any  life.  Im- 
agine one  selected  day  str  ick  out  of  it,  and  think  how  different  its 
course  would  have  been.  Pause,  you  who  read  this,  and  think  for 
a  moment  of  the  long  chain  of  iron  or  gold,  of  thorns  or  flow 

would  never  have  bound  you,  but  for  the  formation  of  the 
first  link  on  one  memorable  dav. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  felicitous  idea  occurred  to  me  a  morning  or  two  later  when 
,1  awoke,  that  the  best  step  I  could  take  toward  making  myself 
uncommon,  was  to  get  out  of  Biddy  everything  she  knew,  and  to 
pay  the  strictest  attention  to  Mr.  Wopsle  when  he  read-aloud.  In 
pursuance  of  this  luminous  conception,  I  mentioned  to  Biddy 
when  1  went  to  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt's  at  night,  that  I  had  a 
particular  reason  for  wishing  to  get  on  in  lite,  and  that  I  should 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  59 

feel  very  much  obliged  to  her  if  she  would  impart  all  her  learning 
to  me.  Biddy,  who  was  the  most  obliging  of  girls,  immediately 
said  she  would,  and  indeed  began  to  carry  out  her  promise  with- 
in five  minutes. 

The  educational  scheme  or  course  established  by  Mr.  Wt>psle's 
greafs-aunt  may  be  resolved  into  the  following  synopsis.  The  pu- 
pils ate  apples  and  pal  straw  up  one  another's  backs,  until  Mr. 
Wopsle's  great  aunt  collected  her  energies,  and  made  an  indiscrim- 
inate totter  at  them  with  a  biroh-rod.  After  receiving  the cl 
with  every  mark  of  derision,  the  pupils  formed  in  line  and  buz- 
zingly  passed  a  ragged  book  from  hand  to  hand.  The  book  had 
an  alphabet  in  it.  some  figures  and  tallies,  and  a  little  spelling — 
that  is  to  say.  it  had  o\\n\  As  soon  as  this  volume  began  to  cir- 
culate, Mr.  Wopsle s  great-auul  fell  into  a  state  of  coma;  arising 
either  from  sleep  or  a  paroxysm  of  rheumatics.  The  pupils  then 
entered  among  themselves  upon  a  competitive  examination  on  the 
subject  of  boots,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  who  could  tread 
the  hardest  upon  whose  toes.  This  mental  exercise  lasted  until 
Biddy  made  a  rush  at  them  and  distributed  three  defaced  Bibles, 
shaped  as  if  they  had  been  unskilfully  cut  oil"  the  chump-eiui  of 
something,  more  illegibly  printed  at  the  best  than  any  curiosities  of 
literature  1  have  since  met  with,  speckled  all  over  with  iron-mould, 
and  having  various  specimens  of  the  insect,  world  smashed  between 
their  leaves.  This  part  of  the  course  was  usually  lightened  by 
several  single  combats  between  Biddy  and  refractory  students. — 
"When  the  fights  were  over,  Biddy  gave  out  the  number  of  a  page, 
and  then  we  all  read  aloud  what  we  could — or  what  we  couldn'1 — 
in  a  frightful  chorus  ;  Biddy  leading  with  a  high  shrill  monotonous 
voice,  and  none  of  us  having  the  least  notion  what  we  were  read- 
ing about.  When  this  horrible  din  had  lasted  a  certain  time,  it 
mechanically  awoke  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt,  who  staggered  at  a 
boy  and  fortuitously  pulled  his  ears.  This  was  understood  to  ter- 
minate th  for  the  evening,  and  we  emerged  Into  fhe  air 
with  shrieks  of  intellectual  victory.  It  is  fair  to  remark  that  there 
was  no  prohibition  against  any  pupil's  entertaining  himself  with  a 
slate  or  even  with  the  ink  (when  there  was  any,)  but  that  it  was 
to  pursue  that  branch  of  study  in  the  winter  season,  on 
account  of  the  little  general  shop  in  which  i  he  classes  were  holden — 
and  which  was  also  Mr.  Wopsle's  great  aunt's  sitting-room  and 
bedchamber — being  but  faintly  illuminated  through  the  a| 
e  low-spirited  dip-candle  and  no  snuffi 

It  appeared  to  me  that  it  would  take  time  to  become  uncommon 
under  these  cir  mustances  :  nevertheless,  I  resolved  to  try  it,  and 
that  very  evening  Biddy  entered  on  our  special  agreement,  by  im- 
parting some  information  from  her  little  catalogue  of  Fsices, 
the  head  of  moist  sugar,  and  lending  me,  to  copy  at  home,  a  Ger- 
man text  or  old  English  1>  which  she  had  imitated  from  the  head 


CO  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ine:  of  some  newspaper,  and  which  I  supposed,  until  she  told  me 
what  it  was,  to  be  a  design  for  a  buckle. 

Of  course  there  was  a  public  house  in  the  village,  and  of  course 
Joe  liked  sometimes  to  smoke  his  pipe  there.  I  had  received  strict 
orders  from  my  sister  to  call  for  him  at  the  Three  Jolly-  Barge- 
men, that  evening,  on  my  way  from  school,  and  bring  him  home 
at  my  peril.  To  the  Vhree  Jolly  Bargemen,  therefore,  1  directed 
my  steps. 

There  was  a  bar  at  the  Jolly  Bargemen,  with  some  alarmingly 
long  chalk  scores  in  it  on  the  wall  at  the  side  of  the  door,  which 
eeinetl  to  me  to  be  never  paid  off.  They  had  been  there  ever  since 
1  could  remember,  and  had  grown  more  than  I  had.  But  there 
was  a  quantity  of  chalk  about  our  country,  and  perhaps  the  people 
neglected  no  opportunity  of  turning  it   to  account. 

it  being  Saturday  night,  1  found  the  landlord  looking  rather 
grimly  at  these  records  ;  but  as  my  business  was  with  Joe  and  not 
with  him,  I  merely  wished  hin*  good  evening,  and  passed  into  the 
*  common  room  at  I  he  end  of  the  passage,  where  there  was  a  bright 
large  kitchen  fire,  and  where  Joe  was  smoking  his  pipe  in  company 
with  Mr.  Wopsle  and  a  stranger.  Joe  greeted  me,  as  usual,  with 
"  Halloa,  Pip,  old  chap  :  ;'  and  the  moment  he  said  that,  the  stian- 
I  iirned  his  head  and  looked  at  me. 

He  was  a  secret-looking  man  whom  I  bad  never  seen  before. — 
His  head  was  all  on  one  side,  and  one  of  his  eyes  was  half  shut  up, 
as  if  he  were  making  aim  at,  something  with  an  invisible  gun.  He 
had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  he  took  it  out,  and,  after  slowly  blow- 
ing all  his  smoke  away  and  looking  hard  at,  me  all  the  time,  nod- 
tied.  So  I  nodded,  and  then  henodded  again,  and  made  room  qii 
the  settle  beside  him  that  I  might  sit  down  there. 

lint  as  I  was  used  to  sit  beside  Joe  whenever  I  entered  that 
ol'  resort.  1  said  "  No,  thank  you,  .Sir,''  and  fell  into  the  space 
•toe  made  for  me  on  the  opposite  settle.  The  strange  man,  after 
glancing  at  Joe,  and  seeing  that  his  attention  was  otherwise  en- 
gaged, nodded  to  me  again  when  I  had  taken  my  seat,  and  then 
rubbed  his  leg  in  a  very  odd  way,  as  it  struck  me. 

"  You  was  saying,"  said  the  strange  man,  turning  to  Joe,  "  that 
you  was  a  blacksmith." 

"  "\  es,  I  said  it,  you  know,"  said  Joe. 

"What '11  you   drink,  Mr. ?      You  didn't  mention  your 

name,  by-the-i 

Joe  mentioned  it  now,  and  the  strange  man  called  him  by  it. — 
"  What']]  you  drink,  Mr.Gargery  ?  At  my  expense  \  To  top  up 
with  ? " 

•' Well, ".said  Joe,  "-to  tell  you  The  truth,  1  ain't  much  in  the 
habit  of  drinking  at  anybody's  expense  but  my 

"  Habit  1     No,"  returned  the  stranger.  "  but  once  and  away,  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  61 

on  a  Saturday  night  too.  Come  ?  Put  a  name  to  it,  Mr.  Gar- 
gery." 

"  I  wouldn't  wish  to  be  stifl  company,"  said  Joe.     "  Rum." 

"  Rum,"  repeated  the  stranger.  "  And  will  the  other  gentle- 
man originate  a  sentiment  I  " 

"  Rum,"  said  Mr.  Wopsle. 

"  Three  rums  here  !  "  cried  the  stranger,  calling  to  the  landlord. 
"  Glasses  round  !  " 

"Tins  other  gentleman,"  observed  Joe, .by  way  of  introducing 
Mr.  Wopsle,  "  is  a  gentleman  that  you  would  like  to  hear  give  ii 
out.     Our  clerk  at  church." 

'■  Aha  !  "  said  the  stranger  quickly,  and  cooking  hi  me. 

"The  lonely  church,  right  out  on  the  marshes,  with  the  graves 
round  it!  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  doe. 

The  stranger,  with  a  comfortable  kind  of  grunt  over  his  pipe, 
put  his  legs  up  on  the  settle  that  he  ltad  all  to  himself,  lie  wore 
a  flapping  broad-brimmed  traveler's  hat,  and  under  it  a  handker- 
chief lied  over  his  head  in  the  manner  of  a  cap;  so  that  he 
showed  no  diair.  As  he  looked  at  the  lire,  1  thought  1  saw  a 
cunning  expression,  followed  by  a  half  laugh,  come  into  his  face. 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  this  country,  gentlemen,  but  it  seems 
a  solitary  country  toward  l.he  river." 

"  Most  marshes  is  solitary*"  said  Joe. 

"Nq  doubt,  no  doubt.  Do  you  find  any  gipsies  now,  or  tramps, 
or  vagrants  of  any  sort  out  on  those  lowlands  '.  " 

"  No,"  said  Joe;  "none  hut  a  runaway  convict  now  and  then. 
And  we  don't  find  them  easy.     Eh,  Mr.  "Wopsle  i  " 

Mr.  Wopsle,  with  a  majestic  remembrance  A'  old  discomfiture, 
assented  ;  but  not  warmly. 

"  Seems  you  have  been  out  after  such  1 '"  asked  the  stranger. 

" Once,"  returned >Joe.  "Not  that  we  wanted  to  lake  them, 
you  understand  ;  we  went  out  as  lookers-on;  me,  and  Mr.  Wopsle, 
and  Rip.     Didn't  us,  Rip  .'  " 

"  Yes,  Joe." 

The  stranger  looked  at  me  again — still  cocking  his  eye,  as  if  he 
were  expressly  talcing  aim  at  me  with  his  invisible  gun — and 
said,  "  He's  a  likely  young  parcel  of  bones  that.  What  is  it  you 
call  him  ?  " 

"  Pip,"  said  Joe. 

"  Christened  Rip  ?  " 

'•  No,  not  christened  Rip." 

"  Surnamed  Rip  '?  " 

''No,"  said  Joe,  "it's  a  kind  of  a  family  -name  what  he  gave 
himself  when  a  infant,  and  is  called  by." 

"  Son  of  yours  I  " 

"Weil,"  said  Joe,  meditatively — not,  of  oourse,  that,  it  oould  bt 


62  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

in  anywise  necessary  to  consider  about  it,  but  because  it  was  the 
way  at  the  Jolly  Bargemen  to  seem  to  consider  deeply  about  every 
thing  that  was  discussed  over  pipes  ;  "  well  no — no.     No  he  ain't." 

"  Nevvy  %  "  said  the  strange  man. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  with  the  same  appearance  of  profound  cogita- 
tion, "  he  is  not — no,  not  to  deceive  you,  he  is  not — my  nevvy." 

"""What  the  Blue  Blazes  is  he  1  "  asked  the  stranger — which  ap- 
peared to  me  to  he  an  inquiry  of  unnecessary  strength. 

Mr.  Wopsle  struck  in  upon  that  ;  as  one  who  knew  all  about  re- 
lationships, having  professional  occasion  to  bear  in  mind  what  fe- 
male relations  a  man  might  not  marry  ;  and  expounded  the  tics 
between  me  and  Joe.  Having  his  hand  in,  Mr.  Wopsle  introduced 
a  most  terrifically  snarling  passage  from  Richard  the  Third,  and 
think  lie  had  done  quite  enough  to  account  for  if  when 
he  added  " — as  the  poet  says." 

And  here  I  may  remark  that  when  Mr.  Wopsle  referred  to  me, 
he  considered  it  a  necessary  part  of  such  reference  to  rumple  my 
hair  and  poke  it  into  my  eyes.  I  cannot  conceive  why  any  body  of 
his  standing  who  visited  at  our  house  should  always  have  put  me 
through  the  same  inflammatory  process  under  similar  circumstances. 
Yet  1  do  not  call  to  mind  that  I  was  ever  in  my  earlier  youth  the 
subject  of  remark  in  our  social  family  circle,  but  some  large  handed 
person  took  these  ophthalmic  steps  to  patronize  me. 

All  this  while  the  strange  man  looked  at  nobody  but  me,  and 
looked  at  me  as  if  he  were  determined  to  have  a  .shot  at  me  at 
last,  and  bring  me  down.  Hut  he  said  nothing  after  offering  his 
Blue  Blazes  observation  until  the  glasses  of  rum-and-watcr  were 
brought  ;  and  then  he  made  his  shot.,  and  a  most  extraordinary 
was. 

It  was  not  a  verbal  remark,  but  a  proceeding  in  dumb-show,  and 
was  pointedly  addressed  to  me.      He  stirred  his  mm  -and--. 
pointedly  at  me.  and  he  tasted  his  rum-and-watcr  pointedly  at.  me. 

he  stirred  it  and  he  tasted  it,  not  wi  h   a  spoon  tha! 
brought  to  him,  but  with  a  file. 

He  did  this  so  that  nol  i  saw  the  tile  ;  and  when  In-  had 

done  it  he  wiped  ihe  file  and  put  it  in  a  breast-pocket.  I  knew  it 
to  he  Joe's  tile,  and  I  knew  that  he  knew  my  convict  the  mom:  nt 
I  saw  the  instrument.  I  sat  gazing  at  him,  spell-bound.  But  be 
iiow  reclined  on  his  settle,  taking  very  little  notice  of  me,  and  talk- 
ing principally  about  turnips. 

There  was  a  delicious  sense  of  cleaning-up  and  making  a  quiet 
pause  before  going  on  in  life  afresh,  in  our  village  on  Saturday 
nights,  which  stimulated  Joe  to  dare  to  stay  out  half  an  hour 
longeron  Saturdays- than  at  other  times.  The  half-hour  and  the 
)  um-and-water  running  out  together,  Joe  got  up  to  go,  and  took  me 
by  the  hand. 

"  Stop  half  a  moment,  Mr.  Gargery,"  said  the  strange  man.    "I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  63 

think  I've  gol  a  bright  new  shilling  somewhere  in  my  pocket,  ami 
if  1  have  the  boy  shall  have  it." 

He  looked  it  out  from  a  handful  of  small  change,  folded  it  in 
some  crumpled  [taper,  and  gave  il  to  me.  "  Yours,"  said  he. — 
"  Mind  !  your  own." 

1  thanked  him,  staring  at  him  far  beyond  the  hounds  of  good 
manners,  and  holding  li.^lit  to  doe.  He  gave  Joe  good-night,  and 
he  gave  31r.  Wopsle  good -night  (who  went  out  with  us),  and  he 
gave  me  only  a  look  with  his  aiming  eye — no,  not  a  look,  for  he 
shut  it  up,  bul  wonders  may  he  done  with  an  eye  by  hiding  it. 

On  the  way  home,  if  1  had  been  in  a  humor  for  talking,  the  talk 
must  have  been  all  on  my  side,  for  .Mr.  Wopsle  parted  from  us  at 
the  door  of  the  dolly  Bargemen,  and  doe  went  all  the  way  homo 
with  his  mouth  wide  open,  to  rinse  the  rum  out  with  as  much  ali- 
as possible.  But  I  was  in  a  manner  stupefied  by  this  turning  up 
of  my  old  misdeed  and  old  acquaintance,  and  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else. 

My  sister  was  not  in  a  very  had  temper  when  we  presented  our- 
selves in  the  kitchen,  and  dot'  was  encouraged  by  that  unusual  cir- 
cumstance to  tell  her  about  1  he  bright  shilling.  "A  had  'un,  I'll  he 
hound,"  said  Mrs.  Joe,  triumphantly,  "  ot  he  wouldn't  ave  given 
it.  to  the  hoy  !     Let's  look  at  it." 

1  took  it  out  of  the  paper,  and  it  proved  to  he  a  good  one.  "But 
what's  this  I  "  said  Mrs.  Joe,  throwing  down  the  shilling  and  catch- 
ing up  the  paper.     "  Two  One-round  notes  !  " 

Nothing  less  than  two  fat  sweltering  one-pound  notes,  that  seemed 
to  have  been  on  terms  of  the  warmest  intimacy  with  all  the  cat- 
tle-markets in  the  county.  8 oe  caught  up  his  hat  again,  and  run 
with  them  to  the  Jolly  Bargemen,  to  restore  them  to  their  owner. 
While  he  was  gone,  1  sat  down  on  my  usual  stool  and  looked  va- 
cantly at.  my  sister,  feeling  pretty  sure  that  tiie  man  would  not  be 
there. 

^Presently  Joe  came  hack,  saying  that  the  man  was  gone,  hut 
he,  Joe,  had  left  word  at  the  Three  Jolly  Bargemen  concern- 
ing the  notes.     Then  my  sister  sealed  them  up  in  a  piece  of  paper, 
iiit  them  under  some  dried  rose-leaves  in  an  ornamental  tea- 
li  it  on  the  lop  of  a  press  in  the  .state  parlor.'    There  they  remained, 
a  night-mare  to  me,  many  and  many  a  night  ami  day. 

i  had  sadly  broken  sleep  when  1  gol  to  bed, through  thinking  of 
the  strong  man  taking  aim  at  me  with  his  invisible  gun,  and  of  the 
guiltily-coarse  and  common  thing  it  was  to  lie  on  secret* terms  of 
conspiracy  with  convicts — a  feature  in  my  low  career  thai  i 
previously  forgotten.  1  was  haunted  by  the  file  too.  A  dread  pos- 
d  me  that,  when  1  least  expected  it,  the  tile  would  reappear. — 
axed  myself  to  sleep  by  thinking  of  Miss  Hayisham's,  next 
Wednesday  ;  and  in  my  steep  1  saw  the  file  coming  at  me  out  of  a 
door,  without  seeing  who  held  it,  and  I  screamed  myself  awake. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XL 


At  the  appointed  time  I  returned  to  Miss  Havisham's,  and  my 
hesitating  ring-  at  the  gate  brought  out  Estella.  She  locked  it  af- 
ter admitting  me,  as  she  had  done  before,  and  again  preceded  me 
into  the  dark  passage  where  her  candle  stood.  She  took,  no  notice 
of  me  until  she  had  the  candle  in  her  hand,  when  she  looked  over 
her  shoulder,  superciliously  saying,  "You  are  to  come  this  way  to- 
day," and  took  me  to  quite  another  part  of  the  house. 

The  passage  was  a  long  one,  and  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole 
re  basemen!  of  the  Manor  House.  We  traversed  hut  one  side 
of  the  square,  however,  and  at  the  end  of  it  she  slopped  and  put 
her  candle  down  and  opened  a  door.  Here  the  daylight  reappear- 
ed, and  I  found  myself  in  a  small  paved  court-yard,  the  opposite 
side  of  which  was  formed  by  a  detached  dwelling-house,  that  looked 
as  if  it  had  once  belonged  to  the  manager  or  head  clerk  of  the  ex- 
tinct brewery.  There  was  a  clock  in  the  outer  wall  of  this  house. 
Like  the  clock  in  Miss  Havisham's  room,  and  like  Miss  Havisham's 
watch,  it  had  stopped  at  twenty  minutes  to  nine. 

We  went  in  at  the  door  which  stood  open,  and  into  a  gloomy 
room  with  a  low  ceiling  on  the  ground-floor  at  the  back.  There 
was  some  company, in  the  room,  and  Estella  said  to  me,  as  she  joined 
it,  "  You  are  to  go  and  stand  there,  boy,  till  you  are  wanted." — 
"  There  "  being  the  window,  I  crossed  to  it,  and  stood  "  there  "  in 
a  very  uncomfortable  state  of  mind,  looking  out. 

It  opened  to  the  ground,  and  looked  into  a  most  miserable  cor- 
ner of  the  neglected  garden,  upon  a  rank  ruin  of  cabbage  stalks, 
•and  one  box-tree  that  bad  been  clipped  round  long  ago,  like  a  pud- 
ding, and  had  a  new  growth  at  the  top  of  it  out  of  shape  and  of 
a  different  color,  as  if  that  part  of  the  pudding  had  stuck  to  the 
sauce-pan  and  got  burned.  This  was  my  homely  thought,  as  I 
contemplated  the  box-tree.  There  hacfheen  some  light  snow  over 
night,  and  it  lay-nowhere  else  to  my  knowledge  ;  but  it  had  not 
quite  melted  from  the  cold  shadow  of  this  bit  of  garden,  and  the 
wind  caught  it  up  in  lb  tie  eddies  and  threw  it  at  the  window,  as  i 
it  pelted  me  for  coming  there. 

1  divined  that  my  coming  had  stopped  conversation  in  the  room, 
and  that  its  other  occupants  were  looking  at  me  :  I  could  see 
nothing  of  the  room  except  the  shining  of  die  fire  in  the  window- 
glass,  but  I  stiffened  in  all  my  joints  with  the  consciousness  that 
1  was  under  close  inspection. 

There  were  three  ladies  in  the  room',  and  one  gentleman.  Be- 
fore I  had  been  standing  at  the  window  five  minutes  they  some- 


#  EAT1  EXPECTATIONS.  65 

hoV-conveyed  to  me  that  they  were  all  toadies  and  humbugs, 
that  each  of  them  pretended   not  to  know  that  the  others  were 
toadies  and'  humbugs,  because  the  admission  that  he  or  she  did 
know  it  would  have  made  him  or  her  out  to  be  a  toady  and  hum- 
bug. 

They  all  had  a  listless  and  dreary  air  of  wafting  somebody's 
pleasure,  and  the  most  talkative  of  the  ladies  had  to  speak 
rigidly  to  represa.a  yawn.      This  lady,  whose  name  was  I  lamilla, 
very  much  reminded  me  of  my  sister,  with  the  difference  h;  I 

ilder  and  (as  I  found  when  I  caught  sight  of  her)  of  a  blunt- 
isl  of  features,     indeed,  when  I  knew  er,  I  began  to 

think  it  was  a,  mercy  she  had  any* features  at  all,  so 'Very  blank 
and   high  wis  the  dead  wall  of  her  face. 

•  "  Poor  dear-  oul !"  said  this  lady,  with  an  abruptness  of  man- 
ner quite  my  sister's.     "  Nobody's  enemy  but  his  own  !" 

"It  would  be  much  more,  commendable  to  hi  »dy  else's 

enemy,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  "  far  more  natural." 

"  Cousfc   John,"   observed   another  lady,  "wean  to  loy< 
neighbor." 

".Sarah  Pocket,"  returned.  Cousin  John,  "  if  a  man  is  hot  his 
own  neighbor,  who  is  :" 

Miss  Packet  laughed,  and  Camilla  laughed,  and  said  (checking 
a  yawn),  "The  idea!"     But  I  thought  they  seemed  to  ttiii 
rather  a  good  idea  too.     The  other  lady,  who  had  not  sp 
said,  gravely  and  emphatically  "  Vcnj  true!" 

"  Poor  soul !"  Camilla  presently  went  on  (1  knew  they  had  all 
been  looking  at  me  in  the  mean  time),  "  he  is  so  very  strai 
Would  anyone  believe,  that  when  Tom's  wife  died,  he  actually 
could  not  be  induced  to  see  the  importance  of  the  children  s  having 
the  deepest  oftrimraings  to  their  mourning  ?  '  Good  Lent !'  says  he, 
'  Camilla,  what  can  it  signify  so  long  as  the  p 
things  are  in  black  C     So  like  Matthew!     The  idea!" 

"Good  points  in  him  ;  good  points  in  him!"  said  Cousin  John; 
"  Heaven  forbid  I  should  deny  good  points  in  him  !  but  he  o 
had,  and  never  will  have,  any  sense  of  the  proprieties." 

"  You  know  I  was  obliged,"  said  Camilla — "  I  was  obliged  to 
be  firm.  I  said,  'It  will  not  do  for  the  credit  of  the  family.'  I 
told  him  that,  without  deep  trimmings,  the  family  was  disgraced. 
1  cried  about  it  from  breakfast  till  dinner.  1  injured  my  digest 
And  at  last  he  flung  out  in  his  violent  way,  and  said  with  a  D, 
'  Then  do*as  you  like  ! '  Thank  Goodness  it  will  always  a  con- 
solation to  me  to  know  that  1  instantly  went  out  in  a  pouring  rain 
and  bought  the  things." 

"  He  paid  for  them,  did  he  not  ?"  asked  Estella. 

"  It's  not  the  question,  my  dear  child,  who  paid  for  them,"  re- 
turned Camilla;  "  /  bought  them.  And  I  shall  often  think  of  that 
with  peace  when  L  wake  up  in  the  night." 

5 


66  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  # 

The  ringipg  of  a  distant  bell,  combined  with  the  echoing  of  smne 
cry  or  call  along  the  passage  by  which  I  had  come,  interrupted  the 
conversation,  and  caused  Estella  to  say  to  me,  "  Now,  boy  !"  On 
my  turning  round,  they  all  looked  at  me  with  the  utmost  contempt,* 
and,  as  I  went  out,  I  heard  Sarah  Pocket  say,  "  Well !  I  am  sure! 
What  next?"  and  Camilla  added,  with  indignation,  "Was  there 
ever  such  a  fancy  1     The  i — de — a!" 

As  we  were  going  with  our  candle  along  the  dark  passage,  Es- 
tella stopped  all  of  a  sudden,  and  facing  round  said,  in  her  taunt- 
ing manner,  with  her  face  quite  close  to  mine, 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well,  Miss?"  I  answered,  almost  falling  over  her,  and  check- 
ing myself. 

She  stood  looking  at  me,  and  of  course,  I  stood  looking  at  heiv 

"  Am  I  pretty  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  you  are  very  pretty." 

"  Ami  insulting  ?" 
•  "'Not  so  much  as  you  were  last  time,"  said  I. 

"  Not  so  much  so!" 

«|  No," 

She  tired  when  she  asked  the  last  question,  and  she  slapped  my 
face  with  such  force  as  she  had  when  I  answered  it. 

"  Now  ?"  said  she,  "  you  little  coarse  monster,  what  do  you 
think  of  me  now?" 

"  1  shall  not  tell  you." 

" .Because  you  are  going'to  tell  up  stairs.     Is  that.it  ?" 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  that's  not  it  " 

"  Why  don't  you  cry  again,  you  little  wretch  ?" 

"  Because  I'll  never  cry  for  you  again,"  said  I.  Which  was,  I 
suppose,  as  false  a  declaration  as  ever  was  made  ;  for  1  was  in- 
wardly crying  for  her  them  and  I  kuow  what  I  know  of  the  pain 
she  cost  me  afterward. 

We  went  on  our  way  up  stairs  after  this  episode ;  and,  as  we 
were  going  up,  we  met  a  gentleman  groping  his  way  down. 

"  Who  have  we  here  ?"  asked  the  gentleman,  stopping  and  look-. 
ing  at  me. 

"A  boy,"  said  Estella. 

He  was  a  burly  man  of  an  exceedingly  dark  complexion,  with 
an  exceedingly  large  head. and  a  correspondingly  large  hand.  He 
took  my  chin  in  his  large  hand  and  turned  up  my  face  to  have  a 
look  at  me  by  the  light  of  the  candle.  He  was  prematurely  bald 
on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  had  bushy  black  eyebrows  that  wouldn't 
lie  down,  but  stood  up  bristling.  His  eyes  were  set  very  deep  in 
his  head,  and  were  disagreeably  sharp  and  suspicious.  He  had  a 
very  large  watch-chain,  and  very  Strong  black  dots  where  his  heard 
and  whiskers  would  have  been  if  he  had  let  them.  He  was  no- 
thing to  ise,  and  I  could  have"  had  no  foresight  than  that  he  ever 


GIVE  AT  EXPECTATION^.  67 

■would  be  any  tiling  to  me,  but  it  happened  that  1  bad  this  oppor- 
tu  ,ity  iif  observing  him  well: 

"  Boy  of  1  he  neighborhood  ?     Hey  V  said  he. 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  1. 

"  How  do  you  coine  here  V 

"Miss  Havisham  sen)  for  me,  Sir,"  I  explained. 

"  Well !     Behave  yourself.     1  have  a  pretty  large  experience 
boys,  and  you're  a  bad  set  of  fellows.     Now  mind!*'  said  he,  biting 
the  side  of  his  great  forefinger  as  he  frowned  at  me,  "you  behave 
yourself!" 

With  these  words  lie  released  me — which  J  was  glad  of,  for  his 
hand  smelled  of  scented  soap — and  went  his  waydown  stairs.  1 
wohdereg  whether  he  could  be  a  doctor;  but  no,  I  thought  he 
couldn't  be  a  doctor,  or  he  would  have  a  quieter  and  more  per- 
suasive manner.  There  was  not  much  time  to  consider  the  sub 
for  we  were  soon  in  Miss  Havisham's  room,  where  she  and  every 
thing  else  were  just  as  1  had  left  them.  Estella  left  me  standing 
near  the  doOr,  and  1  stood  there  until  Miss  Havisham  east  her  eyes 
upon  me  from  the  dressing-table. 

••  So  !"  she  said,  without  being  startled  or  surprised;  "the  days 
have  worn  away,  have  t! 

"Yes,  ma'am.     To-day  is — " 

"There,  there,  there!"  with  the  impatient  movement  of  her 
fingers.     "  1  don't  want  to  know.     Are  you  ready-to  play  .'" 

1  was  obliged  to  answer  in  some  confusion,  "  1  don't  think  I  am, 
ma'am." 

"  Not  at  cards  again?'1  she  demanded,  with  a  searching  look. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  1  could  do  that  if  I  was  wanted," 

'"  Siiffee  this  house  strikes  you  old  and  grave,  boy,"  said  Miss 
Havisham,  impatiently,  "and  you  are  unwilling  to  play,  are  yon 
willing  to  work,  .'" 

1  could  answer  this  inquiry  with  a  better  heart  than.  I  bad  been 
all'.'  to  find  for  the  other  question,  and  1  said  1  was  quite  williug. 

jfTheij  go  into  that  opposite  room,"  said  she,  pointing  at  the 
door  behind  hie  with  her  withered  hand,  "and  wait  there  till  I 
come." 

I  crossed  the  stair-case  landing,  and  entered  the  room  she  indi- 
cated. From  that  room,  too,  the  daylight  was  completely  ex- 
cluded, and  it  had  an  airless  smell  that  was  oppressive.  A  fire 
had  been  lately  kindled  in  the  damp  old-fashioued  grate,  and  it 
was  more  disposed  to  go  out  than  to  burn  up,  and' the  reluctant. 
smoke  which  hung  in  the  room  seemed  colder  than  the  clearer  air 
— like  our  own  marsh  mist.  Certain  wintry  branches  of  candles 
on  the  high  chimney-piece  faintly  lighted  the  chamber':  or  it 
would  be  more  expressive  to  say.  faintly  disturbed  and  troubled 
its  darkness.  It  was  spacious,  and  I  dare  say  had  once  been  hand- 
some, but  every  discernible  thing  in  it  was  covered  with  dust  and 


68  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

mould  and  dropping  to  pieces.  The  most  prominent  object  was 
a  long  table  with  a  table-cloth  spread  on  it,  as  if  a  feast  had  been 
in  preparation  when  the  house  and  the  clocks  all  stopped  together. 
An  epergne  or  centre-piece  of  some  kind  was  in  the  middle  of  this 
cloth  ;  it  was  so  heavily  overhung  with  cobwebs  that  its  form  was 
quite  undistinguishable,  and  as  I  looked  along  the  yellow  expanse 
out  of  which  I  remember  its  seeming  to  grow  like  a  black  fungus, 
I  saw  speckled-legged  spiders  with  blotchy  bodies  running  home 
to  it,  and  running  out  from  it,  as  if  some  circumstance  of  the 
greatest  public  importance  had  just  transpired  in  the  spider  com- 
munity. 

I  heard  the  mice  too  rattling  behind  the  panels,  as  if  the  same 
occurrence  were  important  to  their  interests.     But  the  black 
ties  took  no  notice  of  the  agitation,  and  groped  about  the  hearth 
in  a  ponderous  elderly  way,  as  if  they  were  short-sighted  and  hard 
of  hearing  and  not  on  terms  with  one  another. 

These  crawling  things  had  fascinated  my  attention  and- 1  was 
watching  them  from  a  distance,  when  Miss  liavisham  laid  a  hand 
upon  my  shoulder.  In  her  other  hand  she  had  a  crutch  headed 
stic'  on  which  she  leaned,  and' she-looked  like  the  Witch  of  the 
place 

"  This,"  said  she  pointing  to  the  long  table  with  her  stick,  "is 
where  I  will  he  laid  when  I  am  dead.  They  shall  come  and  look 
at  me  here." 

"With  some  vague  misgiving  that  she  might  get  upon  the  table 
then  'and  these  ami  die  ai  ►once,  the  complete  realization  of  the 
ghastly  waxwork  at  the  Fair,  1  shrank  under  her  touch. 

"What  do  you  think  that  is.'"  she  asked  me,  again  pom; 
with  her  stick  ;  "  that,  where  those  cobwebs  are  ?  "      \ 

",  I  can  t  guess  what  it  is,  ma'ai 

'•  li's  a  greal  '".lice.     A  bride-cake.     Mine  !" 

She  looked  ail  round  the  room  in  a  glaring  manner,  and  then  said, 
leaning  on  me  while  her  hand  twitched  my  shoulder,  "Come,  ci 
come!     Walk  me,. walk  me!'' 

I  made  out  from  this  that  the  work  I  had  to  do  was  to  walk 
Miss  Havisham  round  and  round  the  n  cordingly  I  started 

and  she  lean  d  upon  my  shoulder,  and  we  went  away  at  a 
race  that  might  have  been  an  imitation  (founded  on  my  first  im- 
pulse under  that  roof)  of  Mr.  Pumblechook's  chaise-cart. 

She  was  nfct  physically  strong,  and  after  a  little  time  she  said 
"  Slower ! "  Still  we  went  at  au  impatient  fitful  speed,  and  as  we 
went  she  twitched  the  hand  upon  my  shoulder  and  worked  her 
mouth,  and  led  me  to 'believe  that  we , were  going  fast  because  hel- 
ms!. After  awhile  she  said  "Call  Esfejla!"  so  I 
went  out  on  the  landing  and  roared  that  name  as  1  had  done  on 
the  previous  ©ecasion.     Wbeji.  her  light  appeared  I  returned  t# 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  69 

Miss  Havisham,  and  we  started  away  again  round  and  round  the 
room. 

If  only  Estella  had  come  to  be  a  spectator  of  our  proceedings  I 
should  have  fell  arufficiently  discontented;  but  as  she  brought  with 
her  the  three  ladies  and  the  gentleman  whom  T  had  seen  below,  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  In  my  politeness  I  would  have  stopped, 
but  Miss  Havisham  twitched  my  shoulder,  and  we  posted  on — with 
a  shameful  consciousness  on  my  pari  that  they  would  think  it  was 
all  my  dojfhg. 

"  Dear  Miss  Havisham,"  said  Miss  Sarah  Pocket.  "How  well 
you  look  !" 

"I  do  not,"  returned  Miss  Havisham.  "  I  am  yellow  skin  and 
hone." 

Camilla  brightened  when  Miss  Pocket  met  with  this  rebuff;  and 
she  murmured,  as  she  plaintively  contemplated  Miss  Havisham, 
•■  I'oor  dear  soid  !  Certainly  not  to  be  expected  to  look  well,  poor 
thing.     The  idea  !  " 

•'  And  how  are  you  1 "  said  Miss  Havisham  to  Camilla.  As  we 
were  close  to  Camilla  then,  I  would  have  stopped  as  a  matter  of 
course,  only  Miss  Havisham  wouldn't  stop.  We  swept  on,  and  I 
felt  that  1  was  highly  obnoxious  to  Camilla. 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Havisham,"  she  returned,  "  I  am  as  well  as 
can  be  expected." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"'  asked  Miss  Havisham, 
with  exceeding  sharpness. 

"  Nothing  worth  mentioning,"  replied  Camilla.  "I  don't  wish 
to  make  a  display  of  my  feelings,  but  1  have  habitually  thought  of 
you  more  in  the  night  than  I  am  quite  equal  to.' 

"Then  don't  think  of  me,"  returned  Miss  Havisham.  . 

"  Very  easily  said,''  remarked  Camilla,  amiably  repressing  a  sob, 
while  a  hitch  came  into  her  upper  lip,  and  her  tears  overflowed. 
"Raymond  is  a  witness  what  gillger  and  sal  volatile  I  am  obliged 
to  take  in  the  night.  Raymond  is  a  witness  what  nervous  jerkings 
I  have  in  my  legs.  Chokings  and  nervous  jerkings,  however,  are 
nothing  new  to  me  when  I  thihji  with  anxiety  of  those  I  love.  If 
I  could  be  less  affectionate  and  sensitive  1  should  have  a  better  di- 
gestion and  an  iron  set  of  nerves.  1  am  sure  1  wish  it  could  be  so. 
Bui  as  to  not  thinking  of  you  in  the  night — The  idea!"  llcv^  a 
burst  of  fears. 

* 

The  Raymond  referred  to  I  understood  to  be  the  gentleman 
present,  and  him  I  understood  to  be  Mr.  Camilla.  He  came  to  the 
rescue  ai  this  point,  and  said,  in  a  consolatory  and  complimentary 
voice,  "  Camilla,  my  dear*  it  is  well  known  that  your  family  feel- 
ings are  gradually  undermining  you  to  the  extent  of  making  one  of 
your  legs  shorter  than  the  othi 

"  T  am  not  aware,"  observed  the  grave  lady  whose  voice  T  had 


70  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

heard  but  once,  "  that  to  think  of  any  person  is  to  make  a  great 
claim  upon  that  person,  my  dear." 

Miss  Sarah  Pocket,  whom  I  now  saw  to  be  a  little  dry  brown 
corrugated  old  woman,  with  a  small  face  that  might  have  hvm 
made  of  walnut  shells,  and  a  large  mouth  like  a  cat's  without  the 
whiskers,  supported, this  position  by  saying,  "No,  indeed,  mv  dear. 
Hem ! " 

"  Thinking  is  easy  enough,"'  said  the  grave  lady. 

"  What  is  easier,  you  know,"  assented  Misy  Sarah  Pocket. 

"  Oh  yes,  yes ! "  cried  Camilla,  whose  fermenting  feelings  appear-' 
e.d  to  rise  from  her  legs  to  her  bosom.  "  It's  all  very  true  !•  It'a  a 
weakness  to  be  so  affectionate,  but  I  can't  help  it.  No  doubt  my 
health  would  be  much  better  if|it  was  otherwise,  still  I  wouldn't 
change  my  disposition  if  1  could.  It's  the  cause  of  much  sufl'en 
but  it's  a  cons61at|on  to  know  I  possess  it  when  1  wake  up  in  the 
night."     Here  another  burst  of  feeling. 

Miss  Ilavisham  and  I  had  never  stopped  all  this  tim ,-,  but  C 
going  round  and  round  the  room,  now  brushing  against  the  skirts 
of  the  visitors,  and  now  grVirig  them  the  whole,  length    of   the 
dismal  chamber. 

'/There's  Matthew  !"  said  Camilla.     "  Never  mixing  with  my  na- 
tural ties,  never  coming  here  to  see  how  Miss  Ilavisham  is  !    1  have 
taken  to  the  sofa  with  my  stay-lace  cut,  and  have  lain  there  hours. 
insensible,  with  my  head  over  the  side,  and  my  hair  all  down,  and 
my  feet  1  don't  know  where — " 

("  Much,  higher  than  your  head,  my  love,"  said  Mr.  Camilla.) 

"  I  have  gone  off  into  that  state  hours  and  hours  on  account  of     . 
Matthew's  strange  and  inexplicable  conduct,  and  nobody  has  thank- 
ed me." 

"Really  I  must  say  I  should  think  not!"  interposed  the  grave 
lady. 
■  "  You  see,  my  dear."  added  Miss  Sarah  Pocket  (a  blandly  vicious 
personage),  "  the  question  to  put  to  yourself  is,  who  did  you  ex- 
pect to  thank  you,  my  love  I " 

"  Without  expecting  any  thanks,  or  any  thing  of  the  sort,"  re- 
sumed Camilla,  "  I  have  remained  in  that  state,  hours  and  hours, 
and  Raymond  is  a  witness  of  the  extent  to  which  I  have  choked, 
and  what  the  total  ineificacy  of  ginger  has  been,  and  I  have  been 
heard  at  the  pianoforte-tuner's  across  the  street,  where  the  poor, 
mistaken  children  have  even  supposed  it  to»be  pigeons  cooing  at  a 
distance — and  now  to  be  told — "  Here  Camilla  put  her  hand  to 
her  throat,  and  began  to  be  quite  chemical  as  to  the  formation  of 
new  combinations  there. 

When  this  same  Matthew  was  mentioned  Miss  Ilavisham  stop- 
ped me  and  herself  aud  stood  looking  at  the  speaker.  This  change 
had  a  great  influence  in  bringing  Camilla's  chemistry  to  a  sudden 
end. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  71 

| 

"Matthew  will  come  and  see.  me  at  last,"  said  Miss  Hayisham, 
sternly,  "  when  I  am  laid  on  that  table.  That  will  be  his  place — 
there,'*'  striking  the  table  With  her  stick,  "at  my  he,ad!  And 
yours  will  be  there.  And  your  husband's  there.  And  Sarah  Pock- 
et's there.  And  Georgiapa's  there.  Now  you  all  know  where  to 
tike  your  stations  when  you  come  to  feast  ugon  rite.  And  now 
go!"       * 

At  the  mention  of  each  name  she  had  struck  the  table  with  her 
stick  in  a  new  place.  She  now  said,  "  Walk  me,  walk  me  !  "  and 
we  went  on  again. 

"I  suppose  there  is  nothing  to  he  done."  exclaimed  Camilla, 
"but  comply  and  depart.  [t'.s^omething*to  have  seen  the  object 
of  one's  love  and  duty  for  even  so  short  a  lime.  1  shall  think  (if  it 
with  a  melancholy  satisfaction  when  I  wake  up  in  the  night.  I 
wish  Matthew  could  have  that  comfort,  hut  he  sets  it  at  defiance. 
I  am  determined  not  to  make  a  display  of  my  feelirfgs,  but  it's  very 
hard  to  be  told  one  wauls  to  feast  on  one's  relations,  and  to  be  told 
to  go.     The  bare  idea  !  ' 

Mr.  Camilla  interposing,  as  Mrs.  Camilla  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
heaving  bosom,' that  lady  assumed  an  unnatural  fortitude  of  man- 
ner which  I  supposed  to  be  expressive  of  an  intention  to  drop  and 
choke  when  out  of  view,  and  kissing  her  hand  to  Miss  llavisham, 
was  escorted  forth.  Sarah  Pocket  and  Georgian*  contended  who 
should  remain  last,  but  Sarah  was  too  knowing  to  be  outdone,  and 
ambled  round  Georgiana  with  that  artful  slipperiness,  that  the  lat- 
ter was  obliged  to  take  precedence.  Sarah  Pocket  then  made  her 
separate  effect  of  departing  with  "  Bless  you.  Miss  llavisham 
dear!"  and  with' a.  smile  of  forgiving  pity  on  her  wainut-shell" 
countenance  for  the  weaknesses  obthe  rest, 

While  Kstella  was  away  lighting  them  down,  Miss  llavisham 
stilt  walked  with  her  hand  on'  my  shoulder,  but  more  and  more 
slowly.  At  last  she.  stopped  .before  the  tire,  and  said,  after  mut- 
tering and  looking  at  it  some  seconds  : 

"  This  is  my  birthday,  Pip." 

I  was  going  to  wish  her  many  happy  returns,  when  she  lifted  her 
stick. 

' "  I  dou't  suffer  it  to  be  spoken  of.  I  don't  suffer  those  who  were 
here  just  now,  or  any  otic,  to  speak  of  it.  They  come  here  on  the 
day,  but  they  dare  not  refer  to  it."  | 

Of  course  I  made  no  further  effort  to  refer  to  it. 

"  On  this  day  of  the  year,  long  before  you  were  born,  this  heap 
of  decay,"  stabbing  with  her  crutehed  stick  at  the  pile  of  cobwebs 
mi  the  table,  but  not  touching  it,  "was  brought  here.  It  and  I 
have  worn  away  together.  •  The  mice  have  gnawed  at  it,  and  sharp- 
er teeth  than  teeth  of  mice  have  gnawed  at  me." 

She  held  the  head  of  her  slick  against  her  heart  as  she  stood 
looking  at  the  table  ;  she  iu  her  once  white  dress,  all  yellow  and 


72  *  QBEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

• 

withered ;  the  once  white  cloth  all  yellow  and  withered ;  every 
thing  around  in  a  state  to  crumble  under  a  touch. 

"  When  the  ruin  is  complete,"  said  she,  with  a  ghastly  look, 
"  and  when  they  lay  me  dead  in  my  bride's  dress  on  the  bride's  ta- 
ble— which  shall  be  done,  and  which  will  be  the  finished  curse 
upon  him — so  much  the  better  if  it  is  on  this  day  !  " 

She  stood  looking  at  the  table  as  if  she  stood  looking  at  her 
own  figure  lying  there.  I  remained  quiet.  Estella  returned,  and 
she  too  remained  quiet.  .  It  seemed  to  me  that  we  continued  thus 
for  a  long  time.  In  the  heavy  air  of  the  room,  and  the  heavy  dark- 
ness that  brooded  in  its  remoter  corners,  I  even  had  an  alarming 
fancy  that  Estella  and  I  would  presently  begin  to  decay. 

At  length,  not  coming  out  of  her  distraught  state  by  degrees,  but 
in  an  instant,  Miss  Haviskam  said,  "  Let  me  see  you  two  play 
cards ;  why  have  you  not  begun  1 "  With  that,  we  returned  to 
her  room,  and  sat  down  as  before ;  I  was  beggared  as  before ;  and 
again,  as  before,  Miss  Havisham  watched. us  all  the  time,  directed 
my  attention  to  Estella's  beauty,  and  made  me  notice  it  the  more 
by  trying  her  jewels  on  Estella's  breast  and  hair. 

Estella,  for  her  part,  likewise  treated  me  as  before;  except  that 

she  did  not  condescend  to  speak.     When  we  had  played  some  half 

dozen  games,  a  day  was  appointed  for  my  return,  and  I  was  taken 

down  into  the  yard  to  be  fed  in  the  former  dog-like  manner.  There, 

I  was  again  left  to  wander  about  as  L  liked. 

It  is  not  much-  to  the  purpose  whether  a  gate  iu  that  garden 
wall  which  I  had  scrambled  up  to  peep  over  on  the  last  occasion 
was,  on  that  last  occasion,  open  or  shut.  Enough  that  I  saw  no 
then,  and  that  I  saw  one  now.  As  it  stood  open,  and  as  I 
knew  that  Estella  had  let  the  visitors  out — for  she  bad  returned 
with  the  Ireys  in  her  hand — I  strolled  into  the  garden  and  strolled 
all  over  it.  It  was  quite  a  wilderness,  and  there  were  old  melon- 
frames  and  cucumber-frames  in  it,  which  seemed  in  their  decline  to 
havje  produced  a  spontaneous  growth  of  feeble  attempts  at  pieces 
of  old  hats  and  boots,  with  now  and  then  a  weedy  offshoot  into 
the  likene.-s  of  a  battered  sauce-pan. 

When  I  had  exhausted  the  garden,  and  a  green-house  with  noth- 
ing in  it  but  a  fallen  down  grape  vine  and  some  bottles,  I  found 
myself  in  the  dismal  corner  upon  which  I  had  lqpked  out  of  the 
window.  -Never^questioning  for  a  moment  that  the  house  was  now 
empty,  J  looked  in  at  another  wndow,  and  found  myself,  to  my 
great  surprise,  exchanging  a  broad  stare  with  a.  pale  young  gentle- 
man with  red  eyelids  and  very  light  hair. 

This  pale  young  gentleman  quickly  disappeared,  and  reappeared 
beside  me.  He  had  been  at  his  books<when  I  had  found  myself 
staring  at  him,  and  I  now  saw  that  he  was  inky, 

"  Halloa  !  "  said  he,  "  young  fellow  !  " 

Halloa  being  a  general  observation  which  I  have  usually  ob- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  73 

sowed  to  be  Jfest    answered  by  itself,  I  said  "Halloa!  "  politely 
omitting  young  fellow. 

"  Who  lei  you  in  !  "  said  lie. 

"Miss  Estella." 

"Wlio  gavS  you  leave  to  prowl  about !  " 

"  Mhjs  EstellaV 

"('nine  and  fight,"-said  the  pale  young  gentleman. 

Wha1  could  1  do  but  follow  him  .'     I  Lave  often  asked  myself 
the  question  s,incej  but  wfiat  else  could  1  do.'     His  manner  was 
so  final,  and  1  was  so  astonished,  that   1  followed  where  he  led 
if  1  had  been  under  a  spell. 

••  Stop  a  minute,  though/'  he  said,  wheeling  round  before  we  had 
gone  many  paces.  "1  ought  to  give  you  a  reason  for  fighting,  too. 
There  it  is!"  In  a  mest  irritating  manner  he  Instantly  slapped 
his  hands  against  one  another,  daintily  flung  one  of  his  legs  up  be- 
hind him,  pulled  my  hair,  slapped  his  hands  again,  dipped  his  head, 
and  ran  it  into  my  stomach. 

The  bull-like  proceeding  last  mentioned,  besides  thai  it  was  un- 
questionably to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  liberty,  was  partic- 
ularly disagreeable  just  after  bread  and  meat.  I  therefore  hit  out 
at  him,  and  Was  going  to  hit  on!  again,  when  he  said,  "  Alia ! 
Would  you  I  "  and  began  dancing  backward  and  forward  in  a  man- 
lier quite  unparalleled  within  my  limited  experience. 

"Laws  of  the  game  !  "  said  he.  Here  he  skipped  from  his  left 
leg  on  to  Ids  right.  "  Regular  rules  !"'  Here  be  skipped  from  his 
right  leg  on  to  his  left.  "  Come  to  the  ground,  and  go  through  the 
preliminaries  !  "  Here  he  dodged  backward  and  forward,  and 
(lid  all  sorts  of  things,  While  i  looked  helplessly  at  him. 

I  was  secretly  afraid  of  him  when  1  saw  him  so  dexterous?  but 
I  felt  -morally  and  physically  convinced  that  his  light  head  of  hair 
could  have  had  no  business  in  the  pit  of  my  stomach,  and  thai  L 
had  a  right  to  consider  it  irrelevant 'When  so  obtruded  on  mj 
tenlion.  Therefore  1  followed  him,  without  a  word,  to  a  retired 
nook  of  the  gaixlen  formed  by  the  junction  (  f  two  walls  and  screened 
by  some  rubbish.  On  his  asking  me  if  1  was  satisfied  with  the 
ground,  and  on  my  replying  yes.  he  begged  my  leave  to  absent 
himself  for  a  moment  and  quickly  returned  with  a  bottle  of  water 
and.  a  sponge  dipped  in  vinegar.  "  Available  for  both,'' he  said, 
placil  again  si  the  wall.     And  then  fclLto  pulling  off,  not 

only  his  jacket   and  waistcoat,  but  his  shirt  Wb,  m  a  manner  at 
light-hearted,  business-like,  and  blood-tbirs 

Al  .  not  look  very  healthy — having  pimples  on  his 

face,  and'n  breaki;  I    his   mouth — these   dreadful   prep 

lions  quite  appalled  me.     1  judged  him  to  be  about  my  own 
but  he  was  much  taller,  and  he  hud  a  way  of  spinning  himself  about 
that  was  full  of  appearance  and  highly  impressive. 
lie  was  a  young  gentlen  n  not  denuded  for 


74  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

battle),  with  his  elbows,  Knees,  wrists,  and  heels  considerably  in 
advance  of  the  rest  of  him  as  to  development. 

My  heart  failed  me  when  I  saw  him  squaring  at  me  with  every 
demonstration  of  mechanical  nicety,  and  eyeing  my  anatomy  as  if 
he  were  minutely  choosing  his  bone.  I  never  have  been  so  sur- 
prised in  my  life  as  I  was  when  I  let  out  the  firs*t  blow,  and  saw 
him  lying  on  his  back  looking  up  at  me  with  a  bloody  nose  and 
his  face  exceedingly  foreshortened. 

But  he  was  on   his  feet  directly,  and  after .  sponging  himself 
wilh  a  great  show  of  dexterity,  began  squaring  again.     The  sec-, 
ond  greatest  surprise  I  have  ever  had  in  my  life  was  seeing  him 
on  his  back  again,  looking  up  at  me  out  of  a  black  eye. 

His  spirit  inspired  me  with  gfeat  respect.  He  seemed  to  have 
no  strength,  and  be  never  once  hit  me  hard,  and  he  was  always 
knocked  down  ;  but  he  would  be  up  again  in  a  moment,  sponging 
himself  or.  drinking  but  of  the  water-bottle,  with  the  greatest  sat- 
isfaction in  seconding  himself  according  to  form,  and  then  came 
at  me  with  an  air  and  a  show  that  made  me  believe  he  really  was 
going  to  do  for  me  at  last.  He  got  heavily  bruised,  for  I  am  sorry 
to  record  that  the  more  I  hit  him  the  harder  I  hit  him,  but  he 
came  up  again  and  again  and  again,  until  at  last  he  got  a  bad 
fall  with  the  back  of  his  head  against  the  wall.  Even  after  that 
crisis  in  our  affairs  he  got  up  and  turned  round  and  round  confus- 
edly a  few  times,  not  knowing  where  I  was,  but  finally  went  on 
his  knees  to  his  sponge  and  threw  it  up,  at  the  same  time  panting 
out,  "  That  means  you  have  won." 

He  seemed  so  brave  and  innocent,  that,  although  I  had  not  pro- 
posed the  contest,  I  felt  but  a  gloomy  satisfaction  in  my  victory. 
Indeed,  I  go  so  far  as  to  hope  that  I  regarded  myself  while  dress- 
ing, as  a  species  of  savage  young  wolf,  or  other  wild  beast.  How- 
ever, I  got  dressed,  darkly  wiping  my  face  at  intervals,  and  I  said, 
"  Can  I  help  you  1 "  and  he  said,  "  Xo,  thankee,"  and  I  said, 
"  Good-afternoon,"  and  he  said,  "  Same  to  you." 

When  I  got  into,  the  court-yard  I  found  Estella  waiting  with  the 
keys.  But  she  neither  asked  me  where  I  had  been,  nor  why  I 
had  kept  her  waiting  ;  and  there  was  a  bright  flush  upon  her  face 
as  though  something  had  happened  to  delight  her.  Instead  of 
going  straight  to  the  gate,  too.  she  stepped  back  into  the  passage, 
and  beckoned  me.    -.. . 

"  Come  here  !     You  may  kiss  me  if  you  like." 

I  kissed  her  cheek  as  she  turned  it  to  me.  I  think  I  would  have 
gone  through  a  great  deal  to  kiss  her  cheek.  But  I  felt  that  the 
kiss  was  given  to  the  coarse,  common  boy,  as  a  piece  of  money 
might  have  been,  and  that  it  was  worth  nothing. 

What  with  the  birthday  visitors,  and  what  with  the  cards,  and 
what  with  the  fight,  my  stay  had  lasted  so  long  that  when  I  neared 


s    GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  75 

home  the  HghJ  on  the  spit  of  sand  off  tin1  point  mi  the  marshes 
was  gleaming  agajnsl  a  black  nighl  sky,  and  Joe's  furnace  was 
flinging  a  path  of  fire  across  I  ho  road. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


My  mind  grew  very  uneasy  mi  I  lie  subject  of  the  pale  Voupg 
gentlemau.  The  more  I  thought  of  the  fight,  and  recalled  the  pale 
young  gentleman  on  bis  back' in  various  stages  of  puffy  and  in 
crimsoned  countenance,  the  more  certain  it  appeared  tbal  some- 
thing would  be  done  to  me.  1  felt  that  the  pale  young  gentle- 
man's blood  was  on  my  head,  and  that  the  law  would  avenge  it. — 
Without  having  any  definite  idea  of  the  penalties  1  had  incurred, 
it  was  clear  to  me  thai  village  boys  could  not  go  stalking  about  the 
country,  ravaging  the  houses  of  gentlefolks  and  pitching  into  the 
studious  youths  of  England,  without  laying  themselves  open  to 
severe  punishment.  For  sonic  days  1  even  kept  close  at  home, 
and  looked  out  at  the  kitchen-door  with  the  greatest  caution  and 
trepidation  before  going  on  an  errand,  lest  the  officers  of  the  coun- 
ty jail  should  pounce  upon  me.  The  pale  yaung'gentleman's nose 
had  stained  my  trowsers,  and  I  tried  to  wash  out  that  evidence  of 
my  guilt  in  the  dead  of  night.  I  had  cut  my  knuckles  again&fethe 
pale  young  gentleman's  teeth*  and  I  twisted  my  imagination  into 
a  thousand  tangles,  as  1  devised  incredible  ways  of  accounting  for 
that  damnatory  circumstance  when  I  should  be  haled  before  the 
Judges. 

When  the  day  came  round  for  my  return  to  the  seine  of  the 
deed  of  violence,  my  terrors  reached  their  height.  Whether  myr- 
midons of  Justice,  specially  sent  down  from  London,  would  he  ly- 
ing in  ambush  behind  the  gate  .'  Whether  .Miss  Ilavisham  prefer- 
ring to  lake  personal  vengeanoe  for  an  outrage  done  to  her  house, 
mighl  rise  in  those  grave  clothes  of  hers,  draw  a  pistol,  and  shool 
me  dead  I  Whether  suborned  boys — a  numerous  band  of  merce- 
naries— ought  ije  engaged  to  fall  upon  Oj  *■  brewery,  and 
knock  me  about  until  I  was  no  more  !  It  was  high  testimony  to* 
m\  confidence  in  the  spirit  of  the  pale  young  gentleman,  that  1  never 
imagined  him  accessary  to  these  relations;  they  always  came  into 
my  mind  as  the  acts  of  in  udicious  relatives,  of  his,  goaded  on  by 
the  stale  of  his  visage  and  an  indignant  sympathy  with  the  family 
features. 


76  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

However,  go  to  Miss  Havisham's  I  must,  and  go  I  did.  And 
behold  !  nothing  came  of  the  late  struggle.  It  .was  not  alluded  to 
in  any  way,  and  no  pale  young  gentleman  was  to  be  discovered  on 
the  premises.  I  found  the  same  gat'  open  and  I  explored  the  gar- 
den, and  ev  n  looked  in  at  the  windows  of  the  detached  house;  but 
my  view  was  suddenly  stopped. by  the  closed  shutters  within,  and 
all  was  lifeless  and  deserted.  Only  in  the  corner^ where  the  com- 
bat had  taken  place  could  I  detect  any  evidence  o'f  the  young  gen- 
tleman's existence.  There  were  traces  of  his  gore  in  that  spot, 
and  I  covered  them  with  garden-mould  from  the  eye  of  man. 

On  the  broad  landing  between  Miss  Havisham's  own  room  and 
that  other  room  in  which  the  long  table  was  laid  out,  I  saw  a  gar-  ' 
den-chair — a  light  chair  on  wheels  that  you  pushed  from  behind. 
It  had  been  placed  there  since  my  last  visit,  and  I  entered,  that 
same  day,  on  a  regular  occupation  of  pushing  Miss  Havisham  in 
this  chair  (when  she  was  tired  of  walking  with  her  hand, upon  py 
shoulder)  round  her  own  room,  and  across#the  landing,  and  round 
the' other  room.  Over  and  over  and  over  again,  we  would  make 
these  journeys,  and  sometimes  they  would  last  as  long  as  three 
hours  at  a  stretch.  I  insensibly  fall  into  a  general  mention  of 
these  journeys  as  numerous,  because  it  was  at  once  settled  that  I 
should  return  every  alternate  day  at  noon  for  these  purposes,  and 
because  I  am  now  going  to  sum  up  a  period  of  at  least  eight  or 
ten  months. 

As  we  began  to  be  more  used  to  one  another,  Miss  Havisham 
talked  more  to  me,  and  asked  me  such  questions  as  what  had  I 
learned,  and  what  was  I  going  to  be?  I  told  her  I  was  going  tJ 
be  apprenticed  to  Joe,  I  believed  ;  and  I  enlarged  upon  my  know- 
ing nothing  and  wanting  to  know  everything,  in  the  hope  that  she 
might  offer  some  help  toward  that  desirable  end.  But  she  did  not  ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  seemed  to  like  my  being  ignorant.  Neither 
did  she  ever  give  me  any  money — or  any  thing  but  my  daily  din- 
ner— nor  even  stipulate  that  I  should  be  paid  for  my  services. 

Estella  was  always  about,  and  always  let  me  in  and  out,  but 
never  told  me  I  might  kiss  her  again.  Sometimes,  she  would  cold- 
ly tolerate  me;  sometimes,  she  would  condescend  tome;  some- 
times, she  would  be  quite  familiar  with  me;  sometimes,  she  would 
tell  me  energetically  that  she  hated  me.  Miss  Havisham  would 
often  ask  me  in  a  whisper,  or  when  we  were  alone,  "Does she  grow 
prettier  and  prettier,  Tip  I  "  And  when  I  said  yes  (for  indeed  she 
tlid),  would  seem  to  enjoy  it  greedily  in  secret.  Also>  when  we 
played  at  cards  Miss  Ila\isham  wordd  look  on,  with  a»miserly  rel- 
ish of  Estella's  moods,  whatever  they  were.  And  sometimes,  when 
her  moods  were  so  many  and  so  contradictory  of  one  another,  that 
I  was  puzzled  wh.at  to  say  or  do,  Miss  Havisham  would  embrace 
her  with  lavish  fondness,  murmuring  something  in  her  ear  that 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  77 

sounded  like  "Break  their  hearts,  my  pride  and  hope,  break  then- 
hearts,  and  have  no  mercy  !  " 

There  was  a  song  Jed  used  to  hum  fragments  of  at  the  forge, 
of  which  the  burden  was  Old  Clem.  This  was  not  a  very  cere- 
monious way  of  rendering  homage  to  a  patron  saint  ;  but  I  believe 
Old  Clem  stood  in  that  relation  toward  smiths.  It  was  a  song 
that  imitated  the  measure  of  beating  upon  iron,  and  was  a  mere 
lyrical  excuse  -for  the  introduction  of  Old  Clem's  respected  name. 
Thus,  you  were  to  hammer  buys  round — Old.  Clem!  With  a 
thump  and  a  sound — Old  Clem  !  Beat  it  out.  beat  it  out — Old 
Clem!  With  a  clink  for  the  stout  Old  Clem!  Blow  the  fire, 
blow  the  fire— Old  Clem!  Roaring  dryer,  soaring  higher— Old 
Clem!  One  day.  soon  after  the  appearance  of  the  ohair,  Miss 
Havisham  suddenly  saying  to  me,  with  the  impatient  movement  of 
her  lingers,  "  There,  there,  there  !  Sing  !  "  1  was  surprised  into 
crooning  this  ditty  as  1  pushed  her  over  the  floor.  It  happened  so 
to  catch  her  fancy,  that  she  look  it  up  in  a  low  brooding  voice  as 
if  she  were  singing  in  her  sleep.  After  that  it  became  customary 
with  us  to' have  it  as  we  moved  about,  and  Est  ell  a  would 
join  in  ;  though  the  whole  strain  was  so  subdued,  even  when  there 
were  three  of  us.  that  it  made  less  noise  .in  the  grim  old  house  than 
the  lightest  breath  of  wind. 

What  could  1  become  with  these  surroundings  'I  How  could  my 
character  fail  to  be  influenced  by  them  '.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at 
if  my  thoughts  were  dazed,  as  my  eyes  were,  when  I  came  out  in- 
to the  natural  light  from  the  misty  yellow  rooms  ! 
^  Perhaps  I  might  have  told  Joe  about  the  pale  young  gentleman, 
*f  I  had  not  previously  been  betrayed  into  those  enormous  inven- 
tions to  which  I  have  confes^d.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  felt 
that  Joe  could  hardly  fail  tcTdiscern  in  the  pale  young  gentleman  an 
appropriate  passenger  to  be  put  into  the  black  velvet  coach  ;  lh 
fore,  1  said  nothing  of  him.  Besides,  that  shrinking-. from  having 
Miss  Havisham  and  Estella  discussed,  which  had  come  upon  me 
in  the  beginning,  grew  much  more  potent  as  time  went  on.  .  1  re- 
posed complete  enfu'ence  in  no  one  but  Biddy;  but.  1  told  poor 
Biddy  everything.  Why  il  came  natural  to  me  to  do  so,  and  why 
dj  had  a  deep  concern  in  everything  I  told  her,  I  did  not  know 
then,  though  L  think  I  know  now.  Shade  of  poor  Biddy,  forgive 
me  ! 

Meanwhile  oouuc  in    the  kitchen  at  home,  fraught 

witli  almost  Insupportable  aggravation  to  my  exasperated  spirit. 
That  ass,  Pumblecbook,  used  often  to  come  over  of  a  night  for 
kh<  pjurpose  of  discussing  my  prospects  with  my  sister;  and  1  real- 
ly do  believe  (to  this. hour  with  lass peflitence  than  1  ought  to  feel), 
bese  hands  could  have  taken  a  linch-]  his  chaise- 

cart  they  would  have  done  it.     The  miserable  man  was  a  man  of 
that  cauiiiMid  stolidity  of  mind  thai  he  could  nut  discuss  my  pros- 


78  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

pects  without  having  me  before  him — as  it  were,  to  operate  upon — 
and  he  would  drag  me  up  from  my  stool  (usually  by' the  collar) 
where  I  was  quiet  in  a  corner,  and,  standing  me  before  the  fire  as 
if  I  was  going  to  be  cooked,  would  begin  by  saying,  "  Now,  mum, 
here  is  this  boy.  Here  is  this  boy  which  you  brought  up  by  hand. 
Hold  up  your  head,  boy,  and  be  forever  grateful  unto  them  which 
so  did  do.  Now,  mum,  with  inspections  to.  this  boy  !"  And  then 
he  would  ruin  pie  my  hair  the  wi#ng  way — which,  from  my  earliest 
remembrance,  as  .already  hinted,  I  have  in  my  soul  denied  the 
right  of  any  fellow-creature  to  do — and  would  hold  me  before  him 
by  the  sleeve;  a  spectacle  of  imbecility  only  to  be  equaled  by 
himself. 

Then  he  and  my  sister  would  pair  off  in  such  nonsensical  specu- 
lations about  Miss  Havisham,  and  about  what  she  would  do  with 
me  and  for  me,  that  I  used  to  want — quite  painfully — to  burst  in 
spiteful  tears,  to  fly  at  Pumbleehook,  and  pommel  him  all  over. 
In  these  dialogues  my  sister  spoke  of  me  as  if  she  were  morally 
wrenching  one  of  my  teeth  out  at  every  reference  ;  while  Pumble- 
chfeOK  himself,  sell-constituted  my  patron,  would  sit  supervising  me 
with  a  depreciatory  eye,  like  the  architect  of  my  fortunes  who 
thought  himself  engaged,  on  a  very  unremunerative  job. 

In  these  discussions  Joe  bore  no  part.  But  he  was  often  talked 
at,  while  they  were  in  progress,  by  reason  of  Mrs.  Joe's  perceiving 
that  he  was  not  favorable  to  my  being  taken  from  the  forge.  I 
was  fully  old  enough  now  to  be  apprenticed  to  Joe;  and  when  Joe 
sat  with  the  poker  on  his  knees,  thoughtfully  raking  out  the  ashes 
between  the  lower  bars,  my  sister  would  so  distinctly  construe  that 
innocent  action  into  opposition  on  his  part,  that  she  would  dive  af 
him,  take  the  poker  out  of  his  bauds,  shake  him  and  put  it  away. 
There  was  a  most  irritating  end  to  every  one  of  these  debates.  All 
in  a  moment,  with  nothing  to  lead  lip  to  it,  my  sister  would  stop 
herself  in  a  yawn,  and  would  swoop  upon  me,  with  "  Come ! 
There's  enough  of  you  !  You  get  along  to  bed ;  you've  given 
trouble  enough  for  one  night,  I  hope!"  As  if  I  had  besought 
them  as  a  favor  to  bother  my  life  out. 

Well  !  We  went  on  this  way  for  a  long  time,  and  it  seemed 
likely  that  we  should  continue  to  go  on  in  .this  way  for  a  long  time, 
when  one  day  Miss  Havisham  stopped  short  as  she  and  I  were 
walking,  she  leaning  on  my  shoulder;  and  said,  with  some  dis- 
pleasure, 

"  You  are  growing  tall,  Pip  ! " 

I  thought  it  best  to  hint,  through  the  medium  of  a  meditative 
look,  that  this  might  be  occasioned  by  circumstances  over  which  I 
had  no  control. 

Sue  said  no  more  at  the  time ;  but  she  presently  stopped  and 
looked  at  me  again ;  and  presently  again  ;  and  after  that  looked 
frowning  and  moody.    On  the  next  day  of  my  attendance  when 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  79 

our  usual  exercise  was  over,  and  I  bad  landed  her  at  her  dressing- 
table,  sfie  staid' me  with  a  movemenl  ofher  impatient  fingers: 
"  "Tell  me  the  name  again  of  that  blacksmith  of  yours." 

"Joe  Gargery,  ma'am." 

"  Meaning  the  master  you  were  to  be  apprenticed  to  ?" 

"  Yes.  Miss  llavisham." 

•'  You  had  better  be  apprenticed  at  once.    Would  Gargery  cdtne 
here  with  you.  and  bring  your  indentures,  do  you  think  !  " 
1  I  signified  that  I  had  no  doubt  he  would  take  it  as  an  honor  to 
keel. 

'•  Then  let  him  come." 

"  At  any  particular  time,  Miss  llavisham  ?" 

"There,  there  !     f  know  nothing  about   times.      Let  him  come 
soon,  and  come  along  with  you." 

When  I  got  home  at  night,  and  delivered  this  message  for  Joe, 
my  sister  "went  on  the  Ram-page,"  as  Joe  expressed  it,  in  a 
more  alarming  degree  than  at  any  previous  period.  She  asked  me 
and  Joe  whether  we  supposed  she  was  door  mats  under  our  feet, 
and  how  we  dared  to  use  her  so,  and  what  company  we  graciously 
thought  she  was  fit  for?  When  she  had  exhausted  a  torrent  of 
such  inquiries,  she  threw  a  candlestick  at  Joe,  burst  into  a  loud 
sobbing,  got  oiit  the  dust-pan — which  was  always  a  very  bad  sign 
— put  on  her  coarse  apron,  and  began  cleaning  up  to  a  terrible  ex- 
tent. Not  satisfied  with  a  dry  cleaning,  she  took  to  a  pail  and 
scrubbing  brush,  and  cleaned  us  out  of  house  and  home,  so  that  we 
stobd  shivering  in  the  back-yard.  It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night  be- 
fore we  ventured  to  creep  in  again,  and  then  she  asked  Joe  why  he 
hadn't  married  a  Negress  Slave  at  once  I  Joe  ofFered  no  answer, 
poor  fellow  !  but  stood  feeling  his  whisker  and  looking  dejectedly 
at  me,  as  if  he  thought  it  really  might  have'been  a  heller  sp 
lation. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


It  was  a  trial  to  my  feelings  on  the  next  day  but  one,  to  see  Joe 
arraying  himself  in  his  Sunday  clothes  to  accompany  me  to  3liss 
Etavisham's.  However,  as  he  thought  his  cotm-snit  necessary  to 
the  occasion,  it  was  nol  for  me  lo  tell  him  that  he  looked  far  better 
in  his  working  dress  ;  the  rather,  because  1  knew  he  made  himself 
so  'dreadfully  Uncomfortable,  entirely  on  my  account,  and  that  it 
was  for  me  he  pulled  up  his  shin-collar  so  verj  high  behind  that  it 
made  the  hair  on  the  crown  of  his  head  stand  up  like  a  tuft  of : 
feather*. 


80  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

At  breakfast-time  my  sister  declared  her  intention  of  going  to 
town  with  us,  and  being  left  at  Uncle  Pumblechook's,  and  called 
for  "  when  we  had  done  with  our  fine  ladies" — a  way  of  putting 
the  case,  from  which  Joe  appeared  inclined  to  auger  the  worst. 
The  forge  was  shut  up  for  the  day,  and  Joe  inscribed  in  chalk  upon 
the  door  (as  it  was  his  custom-  to  do  on  the  very  rare  occasions 
when  he  was  not  at  work)  the  monosyllable  hout,  accompanied  by 
a  sketch  of  an  arrow  supposed  to  be  flying  in  the  direction  he  had 
taken. 

We  walked  to  town,  my  sister  leading  the  way  in  a  very  large 
beaver  bonnet,  and  carrying  a  basket  like  the  Great  Seal  of  England 
in  plaited  straw,  a  pair  of  pattens, -and  an  umbrella,  though  it  was 
a  One  bright  day.  I  am  not  quite  clear  whether  these  articles  were 
ca'rried  penitentially  or  ostentatiously  ;  but  I  rather  think  they 
were  displayed  as  articles  of  property — much  as  Cleopatra,  or  any 
other  sovereign  lady  on  the  Ram-page,  might  exhibit  her  wealth  in 
a  pageant  or  procession. 

When  we  came  to  Pumblechook's  my  sister  bounced  in  and  left 
us.  .  x\s  it  was  almost  noon  Joe  and  I  held  straight  on  to  Miss' 
Havisham's  house.  Estella  opened  the  gate  as  usual,  and  the  mo- 
ment site  appeared  Joe  took  his  hat  off  and  stood  weighing  it  by 
the  brim  in  both  his  hands — as  if  he  had  some  urgent  reason  in 
bis  mind  for  being  particular  to  half  a  quarter  of  an  ounce. 

Estella  took  no  notice  of  either  of  us,  but  led  us  the  way  that  I 
knew  so  well.  1  followed  next  to  her,  and  Joe  came  last.  When 
I  looked  back  at  Joe  in  the  long  passage  be  was  still  weighiug  his 
hat  with  the  greatest  care,  and  was  coming  after  us  in  long  strides 
on  the  tip  of  his  toes. 

Estella  told  me  we  were  both  to  go  in,  so  I  took  Joe  by  the  coat- 
cuff  and  conducted  him  into  Miss  Havisham's  presence.     She  was 
id  at  her  dressing-table,  and  looked  round  at  us  immediately. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  she  to  Joe.  •"  You  are  the  husband  of  the  sister  of 
this  boy?" 

I  could  hardly  have  imagined  dear  old  Joe  looking  so  unlike  him- 
self or  so  like  some  extraordinary  bird  ;  standmg,  as  he  did,  speech- 
less, with  his  tuft  of  feathers  ruffled,  and  his  mouth  open,  as  if  be  • 
wanted  a  worm. 

"  You  are  the  husband,"  repeated  Miss  Havisham,  "  of  the  sis- 
ter of  this  boy?" 

It  was  very  .aggravating,  but  throughout  the  interview  Joe  per- 
sislcd  in  addressing  Me  instead  of  Miss  Havisham. 

"  Which  I  meantersay,  Pip,"  Joe  now  observed  in  a  manner  that 

was  at  oncet  expressive  of  forcible  argumentation,  strict  confidence, 

and  great ''politeness,  "as  I   hup  and  married  your  sister,  and  I 

;  were  at  the.time  what  you  might  call  (if  you  was  any  ways  inclined) 

a  single  man." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  81 

"Well!"  said  Miss  Havisham.     "And  you  have  reared 
bov,  with  the  intention  of  taking  him  fur  your  apprentice;  is  that 
so.'  Mr.  Qai  -cry'.'" 

"  You   know,  Pip,"  replied  Joe,  "as  you   and   me   were 
friends,  and  it  were  look'd  for'ard  to  betwixt  us,  as  being  eal 
ted  to  lead  to   larks.     Not  but  what,  Pip,  if  you  had  ever  made 
objections  to  the  business — such  as  its  being  open   to  black  and 
sul, 'or  such-like — not  but   what   they  would  have  been  attended 
to  ;   don't  you  see,/'' 

"  Has  the  hoy,*'  said   Miss  Havisham,  "ever  made  any  objec- 
tion ?     Does  he  like  the  Jra'di 

"  Which  it  is  well  beknowh  to  yourself,  Pip,"  returned  J 
strengthening  his  former  mixture  vi'  argumentation,  confid 
and  politeness,  "that  it  were  the  wish  of  your  own  hart."  (I  saw 
the  idea  suddenly  break  upon  him  that  he  would  adapt.his  epitaph 
to  the  ocoasion,  before  he  went  on  to  say)  "  And  there  were  no  in- 
jection on  your  part,  and,  Pip,  it  were  the  great  wish  of  your 
hart!" 

It  was  quite  in  vain  for  me  tq  endeavor  to  make  him  sensible 
thai  he  ought   to.  speak  to  Miss  Havisham.     The  more  I  made, 
faces  and  gestures  to  him  to  do  it,  the  more  confidential,  argumen 
tative,  and  polite  he  persisted  in  being  to  Me. 

"Have   you   brought  his  indentures  with   you  V  asked 
Havisham. 

"  Well,  Pip,  you  know."  replied  Joe,  as  if  that  were  a  little  un- 
liable, "you  yourself  see  me  put  'em  in  my  'at,  and  therefore 
you  know  as  they  are  here."  Willi  which  he  took  them  out.  and 
I  to  Miss  Havisham,  but  to  me.  I  am  afraid  I  was 
ashamed  of  the  dear,  good  fellow — I  know  I  was  asbatied  of  him 
— when  I  saw  that  Estella  stood  at  the  back  of  Miss  HavishahYs 
chair,  and  that  her  eyes  laughed  mischievously.  I  took  the  in- ' 
dentures  out  of  his  hand  and  gave  them  to  Miss  Havishj 

"  You  expected,'.'  said  Miss  Plavisham.as  she  looked  them  over. 
••  no  premium  with  the  hoy  ?" 

".foe!"-:  remonstrated,  for  he  made  no  answer  at  all.'  "Why 
don't  yon — " 

"Pip,"  returned  Joe,  cutting  me  short  as  if  he  were. hurt, 
"  which  I  meanterpay  that  were  not  a  question  requiring  a  answer 
betwixt  yourself  and  me,  and  which  you  know  the  answer  to  be 
full  well  No,  You  know  it  to  be  No,  Pip,  and  wherefore  should 
I    ay  i!  f 

Miss  Havisham  glanced  at  him  as  if  she  understood  what  he 
really  was,  i  etter  than  I  bad  thought  possible,  seeing  what  he  was 
there;  and  *ook  up  a  Utile  bag  from  the  tahle  beside  her. 

"  Pip  has  earned  a  premium  here,"   she   said,  "and  here 
There  are  iive-and-Lwenty  guineas  in   this  bag.     Uive  it  to  your 
master,  Pip." 
6 


88  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

As  if  he  were  absolutely  out  of  his  mind  with  the  wonder  awak- 
ened in  him  by  her  strange  figure  and  the  strange  room,  Joe,  even 
at  this  pass,  persisted  in  addressing  me. 

•"  This  is  very  liberal  on  your  parr,  Pip, ";  said  Joe,  "and  it  is 
as  such  received  and  grateful  welcome,  though  never  looked  for, 
far  nor  near  nor  nowheres.  And  now.  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  con- 
veying to  me  a  sensation,  first  of  burning  and  I  hen  of  freezing,  for 
I  felt  as  if  that  familiar  expression  were  applied  to  Miss  Havisli 
"and  now,  old  chap,''may  we  do  our  duty  !  May  you  and  rri 
our  duty,  both  on  us  by  one  and  another,  and  by  them  which  your 
liberal  present — have — conweyed — to  be — for  the  satisfaction  of 
mind — of — them  as  never — "  here  Joe  showed  that  he  felt  he  had 
fallen  into  frightful  difficulties,  until  be  triumphantly  rescued  him- 
self with  the  words,  "and  from  myself  far  he  it!"  These  words 
had  such  a  round  and  convincing  sound  to  him  that  he  said  them 
twice. 

'•Hood  by, Pip!"  said  Miss  Havisham.  "Lei  them  out,  Estella." 

"Am  1  to  come  again,  Miss  Havisham  V  1  asked. 

">,'o      Gargery  is  your  master  now.     Gargery!     One  word  !" 

Thus  calling  him  back  as  I  went  out  of  the  door,  I  heard  bee 
say  to  Joe  in  a  distinct  emphatic  voice,  "The  hoy  has  been  a  godd, 
boy  here,  and  that  is  his  reward.  Of  course,  as  an  honest  man, 
you  will  expecl  no  oilier  and  no  more." 

How  Joegol  out  iii'  the  room  I  have  never  been  able  to  deter- 
mine:, but  1  know  that  when  he  did  get  out  he  was  insanely  pro- 
ceeding up  stairs  instead  of  coming  down,  and  was  deaf  to  all  re- 
monstrances until  I  went,  after  him  and  laid  hold  of  him.  In  an- 
other minute  we  were  outside  the  gate,  and  it  was  locked,  and 
Estella  was*gone 

When  we  stood  in  the  daylight  alone  again,  Joe  backed  up 
against  a.  wall,  and  said  to  me,  ••Astonishing!"  And  theH 
remained  so  long,  saying  "Astonishing!"  at  intervals,  so  often, 
that  1  began  to  think  his  senses  were  never  coming  back.  At 
length  he  prolonged  his  remark  into  "Pip.  I  do  assure  you  that 
this  is  as  T,>\-ish  ng  !"  and  so,  by  degrees,  became  conversational 
and  able  to  walk  away. 

1  have  reason  to  think  that  Joe's  intellects  were  brightened  by 
the  encounter  they  had  passed  through,  and  that  on  our  waytopum- 
blechook's  he  invented  a  subtle  and  deep  design.  My  reason  is  to 
be  found  in  what  took  place  in  Mr.  Pumblechook's  parlor  :  where, 
on  our  presenting  ourselves,  my  sister  sat  in  conference  with  that 
ted  seedsman. 

•'  We'd  ?"  cried  my  sUer,  add  '  i   at  once.     "  And 

what's  hv.pemd  to  you?      I    wonder   you   condescend  to  come 
back  to  such  poor  society  as  this,  I  am  sure  1  do  !" 

"  Miss  Havisham,"  said  Joe,  with  a  fixed  look  at  me,  like  an 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  63 

effort  of  .remembrance,  ••  made  if  wery  partiblvler  that  we  should 
give  her — \vre  it.  compliments  or  respect's;  Pip?" 

"  Compliments,"  I  said. 

"  Which  that  ^ere  my  own  belief,'-  answered  Joe — "her  com- 
pliment- .i.  Gargefy." 

"  $luch  good,  they'll  do  me  f"  observed  my  sister  ;  but  rather 
gratified,  too'. 

\nd  wishing,"  pursued  doe,  with  anotffler  fixed  look  at  me, 
like'  another  e  tembrance,  "that  the  state  of  Miss  Havi- 

shaui'selth  were  sitch  as  would  have — alloVed,  WereiJ,  Pip?" 

'■  ( >f  her  having  the  pleasure."  I  added. 

"  ( >f  ladies'  company,"  said  Joe.     And  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  \\  ell !  "cried  my  sister,  with1  a  mollified  glapceatMr.  Pum- 
bleehook.  "  She  might  have  had  the  politeness  to  send  that  mes- 
sage at  first,  but  it's  better  late  than  never.  And  what  did  she 
give  young  Kantipple  here  '." 

"  She  giv' him,"  said  Joe,  "nothing." 

.Airs,  doe  was  going  to  break  out,  but  Joe  went  on. 

"  What  she  giv',"  said  Joe,  '-she  giv'  to  his  friends.  '  And  by 
ids  friends.'  were  he;-  explanation,  '  1  mean  into  the  hands  of  his 
sister.  Mrs.  J.  Gargery.'  Them  were  her  words;  « Mrs?  J.  Gar- 
gery.' She  mayn't  have  know'd,"  added  Joe,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  reflection,  "  whether  i!  were  Joe,  or  Jorge." 

My  sister  looked  at  Pumblechook,  who  smoothed  the  elbows  of 
his  wooden  arm-chair,  and  nodded  at  her  and  atihe  fire,  as  if  he 
had  known  ail  about  it  beforehand. 

"And  how  much  have  you  got?"  asked  my  sister,  laughing. 
Positively  laughing! 

"  What  would  present  company  say  to  ten  pound?"  demanded 

"They'd  say,"  returned  my  sister,  curtly,  "  pretty  well.  Not 
too  much,  but  pretty  well." 

"  It's  more  than  that,  then,"  said  Joe. 

That  fearful  Impostor,  Pumblechook,  immediately  nodded,  and 
said,  as  he  rubbed  the  arms  of  his  chair:  "It's  more  than  that, 
mum." 

"  Why,  you  don't,  mean  to  say — "  began  my  sister. 

"Yes,  I  dp,  mum,"  said  Pumblechook;  "but  wait  a  bit.  Go 
on,  Joseph.     Good  in  you  !     Goon!" 

"What  would  present  company  say,"  proceeded  Joe,  "to 
twenty  pound  ?" 

"  Handsome  would  be  the  word,"  returned  my  sister. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Joe,  "it's  more  than  twenty  pound." 

That  abject  Hypocri:c,  Pumblechook,  nodded  again,  aud  said, 
with   a  patronizing  laugh,  "  It's   more  than  that,  mum.     ( 
again  !     Follow  her  up,  Joseph  !" 


9H  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Then,  to  make  an  end  of  it,''  said  J oe,  delightedly,  banding 
the  bag  to  my  sister;  "it's  five-and-t  wenty  pound." 

"  ll's  five-and-twenty  pound,  mum,"  echoed  the  basest  of  swin- 
dlers, Pumblechook,  rising  to  shake  hands  with  her;  "and  it  sim 
in  ore  than  your  merits  (as  I  said  when  my  opinion  was  asked), 
and  I  wish  you  joy  of  the  money  !" 

If  the  villain  had  stopped  here  his  case  would  have  been  suffi- 
ciently awful,  but  he  blackened  his  gujlt  by  proceeding  to  take  me 
into  custody,  with  a  right  of  patronage  i ; i>  former  crimin- 

ality far  behind.! 

"  Now  you  see,  Joseph  and  wife,"  said  Pumclcchook,  as  he  took 
me  by  the  arm  above  the  elbow,  "  I  am  one  of  them  that  always 
go  right  through  with  what,  they've  begun.  This  boy  nmst'be 
bound  out  of  hand.     That's  my  way.     Bound  out  of  hand." 

■'Goodness  knows.  Uncle  Purohlecho'ok,'?  said  my  sister  (grasp- ' 
ing  the  money),;  "we're  deeply  beholden  to  ymi." 

"Never  mind  me,  mum,"  returned  that  diabolical  corn-chandler. 
"A  pleasure's  a  pleasure  all  the  world  over.  But  this  boy,  you 
know  ;  we  must  have  him  bound.  1  said  I'd  see  lo  i1 — to  tell  yon 
the  truth." 

The  Justices  were  sitting  in  the  Town  Hall  near  at  hand,  and 
we  at  once  went  over  to  have  me  bound  apprentice  to  Joe  in  the 
Magisterial  presence.  I  say  we  went  over,  but  1  was  pushed  over 
by  Pumblechook,  exactly  as  if  I  had  that  moment  picked  a  pocket 
or  fired  a  rick;  indeed  it  was  the  general  impression  in  Court  thai 
I  had  been  taken  red-handed,  for,  as  Pumblechook  shoved  me  be- 
fore him  through  the  crowd,  I  heard  some  people  say,  "  What's  he 
done?"  and  others;*' He's  a  young 'un  too,  but  looks- bad,  don't 
he  2  "  One  person  of  mild  and  benevolent  aspect  even  gave  me 
a  tract  ornamented  with  a  woodcut  of  a  malevolent  young  man  in 
a  ;  erfect  sausage-shop  of  fetters,  and  entitled,  To  &k  RJSAD  i.\  mv 
Ckll. 

The  Hall  was  a  queer  place,  1  thought,  with  higher  pews  in  it 
than  a  church — and  with  people  hanging  over  the  pews  looking  on 
— and  with  mighty  Justices  (one  with  a  powdered  head)  leaning 
back  in  chairs,  with  lidded  arms,  or  taking  snuff,  or  going  to  sleep, 
or  writing,  or  reading  the  newspapers — and  with  some  shining  black 
port  rails  on,  the  walls,  which  my  unartistic  eye  regarded  as  a  com- 
position of  hardbake  and  sticking-plaster.  Here,  in  a  corner,  my 
indentures  were  duly  signed  and  attested,  and  I  was  "  bound;"  Mr. 
Pumblechook  holding  me  all  the  while  as  if  we  had  looked  in  on 
our  way  lo  the  scaffold  to  have  those  little  preliminaries  disposed 
of. 

When  we  bad  come  out  again,  and  had  got  rid  of  the  boys  who 

been    put   into  great   spirits   by  the  expectation  of  seeing  me 

publicly  tortured,  and  who  were  much  disappointed  to  find  that  my 

&» wins*  wane  nifew4y  raiding  sound  uia,  ww  want  back  to  Puoible' 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  85 

(•hook's.  And  there  my  sister  became  so  excited  by  the  twenty- 
five  guineas,  that  nothjng  would  serve  her  I  nit  we  nuisi  haVea  din- 
ner out  of  that  windfall  al  the  Blue  Hoar,  and  that  Punibleejiook 
must  go  over  in  his  ehais|-c*ar1    .  the   Babbles. and  Mr. 

Wopsle. 

l!  was  agreed  to  he  done;  and  a  most  melaifclfoly  day  1  passed. 
For  it  inscrutably  appeared  to  stand  to  reason,  in  the  minds  of  the 
whole  eoinpany.  that  1  was  an  pxci'e*scence  on  the  entertainment. 
And  io  make  il  worse,  they' all  asked  me  from  time,  to  time— in 
short,  whenever  they  had  nothing  "else  to  do — why  I  didn't  enjoy 
mjself.  And  wlmi  could  I  possibly  do  then  but  say  1  was  enjoy- 
ing myself — when  1  was 

However,  they  were  growVi  up  and  had  their  own  way,  and  they 
made  the  most  of  it.  That  swindling  Pumblech'oolt,  exalted  into 
the  heneliciciit  contriver  of  the  whole  occasion,  actually  took  the 
top  of  the  table;  and,  when  he  addressed  them  on  the  subject  of 
.  my  being  hound,  and  fiendishly  congratulated  them  on  my  being 
liable  to  imprisonment  if  1  played  at  cards,  drank  strong-  liquors, 
kept  late  heurs  or  had  company,  or  indulged  in  other  vagaries  which 
form  of  my  indentures  appeared  to  contemplate  a's  next  to  in- 
evitable, he  piaeed  me  standing  on  a  chair  beside  him  io  illustrate 
his  remarks.' 

My  only  other  remembrances  of  the  great  festival  are,  that  they 
wouldn't  lei  me  go  io  sleep,  hut  whenever  they  saw  me  dropping 
off,  woke  me  up  and  told  me  to  enjoy  myself.  That,  rather  late  in 
the  evening  Mr.  Wopsle  gave  us  Collin's  Ode,  and  threw  his  blood- 
stain'd  sword  in  thunder  down  with  such  effect  that  a  waiter  came 
in  and  said:  '  umercials  underneath  sent  tip  their  compli- 

ment^ and  it  wasn't  the  Tumbler's  Arms."  That  they  were  all  in 
excellent  spirits, on  the  road  home,  and  sang  0.  Lady  Fair!  Mr. 
Wopsle  taking  the  bass,  and  asserting  with  a  tremendously  strong 
voice  (in  reply  to  the  inquisitive  bore  who  leads  that  piece  of  mu- 
ni amosl  impertinent  manner,  by  wanting  to  know  allabou 
cry  body's  private  affairs),  ihat  //rwas  the  man  with  his  white  locks 
flowing,  and  that  he  was,  upon  the  whole,  the  weakesl  pilgrim  go- 
ing. 

Finally,  1  remember  that  when  I  go1  into  my  little  bedroom  I 
was  truly  wretched,  and  had  a  strong  conviction  on  me  that  1  should 
never  like  Joe's  trade.      1  had  liked  it  bnoe,  hut  QHCB  was  not  now. 


86  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  is  a  most;  miserable  thing  to  feel  ashamed  of  home.    There 
may  be  black  ingratitude  in  the  thing,  and  the  punishineirfc  ma 
retributive  and  well  deserved;  but  that  it  is  a  miserable  tiling •  1 
can  testify. 

Home  had  never  been  a  very  pleasant  place  to  me,  because  of 
lister's  temper.      But  Joe  bad  sanctified  it,  and  I  believed  in 
had  believed  in  the  best  parlor  as  the  must  elegant  saloon; 
I  had  believed  in  the  front  door  as  a  mysterious  portal  of  the  Tom- 
State  whose  solemn  opening  was  attended  with  a  sacrifice.  . 
or  roast  fowls;  I  had  believed  in  the  kitchen  as  a  chaste  though 
not rifagnificeaot  apartment;  I   bad  believed  in  the  forge  as' 'the 
glowing  read  to  manhood  and  independence.    Within  a  single  year 
all  this  was  changed.     Now  it  was  all  coarse  and  ooro'mon,  and  I 
would  not  have  Miss  Havisham  and  Estella  see  it  enany  account. 

How  much  of  my  ungracious  condition  of  mind  may  have  been 

my  own  fault,  how  much  Miss  Havisham's,  how  much  my  sister's, 

is  now  of  no  moment  to  me  or  to  any  one.     The  change  was  made 

in  me;  the  thing  was  done.     Well  or  ill  done,  excusably  or  inex- 

ably,  it  was  done. 

Oi.ce  it  had  seemed  to  me  that  when  I  should'  at  last  roll  up 
my  shirt-sleeves  and  go  into  the  fdrge,  Joe's  'prentice,  1  should  be 
guished  and  happy.  Now  the  reality  was  in  my  hold,  I  only 
felt  that  I  was  dusty  with  the  dust  of  small  coal,  and  that  1  had 
a  weight  upon  my  daily  remembrance  to  which  the  anvil  was  a 
featheri  There  have,  been  occasions  in  my  later  life  (I  suppose 
as  in  most  lives)  when  I  have  felt  for  a  time  as  if  a  thick  curtain 
had  fallen  on  all  its  interest  and  romance,  to  shut  me  out  from 
any  thing  save  dull  endurance  any  more.  Never  has  that  curtain 
dropped  so  heavy  and  blank  as  when  my  way  in  life  lay  stretched 
out  straight  before  me  through  the  newly-entered  road  of  appren- 
ticeship to  Joe. 

I  remember  that  at  a  later  period  of  my  "  time  "  I  used  to  stand 
about  the  church-yard  on  Sunday  evenings  when  night  was  falling, 
comparing  my  own  perspective  with'  the  windy  marsh  view,  and 
making  out  some  likeness  between  them  by  thinking  how  flat  and 
low  both  were,  and  how  on  both  there  came  an  unknown  way  and  • 
a  dark  mist  and  then  the  sea.  I  was  quite  as  dejected  on  the  . 
first  working-day  of  my  apprenticeship  as  in  that  after-time  ;  but  I 
am  glad  to  know  that  I  never 'breathed  a  murmur  to  Joe  while 


GHEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  87 

my* indentures  lasted.      It  is  abqui  (be  only  tiling  I  am  glad'to 
know  of  myself  in  that  connection. 

or,  though  it  includes ■folia!    1   proceed  to  add,  all  the  merit  of 
what  1  proceed  to  add  v  nol  because  1  was  faith- 

fid,  but  because  doe  was  faithful,  that  1  never  ion  away  and  went 
tor  a,  soldier  ov  a  Salter.      It    was  not  because  I  had  a  strong 
sense  of  the  virtus  of  industry,., but  because   doe  had    a  strong 
sense  of  tie  virtue  of  industry,  that    1  worked  with  toler 
against  tlie  grain.       It  is  not  possible  to  know  bow  far  tile 

of  any  amiable  honcstdicarfed   duty-doing  man  dies  oi 
to  the  world  :  but  it  is  very  possible  to  know  bow  it  has  toucfiqd 
one's  self  in  going  by,  and   I  know  right  well  thai  any  good  that 
intermixed  itself  witb  my  appRentiqeship  came  of  plain  contented 

ijip  not  of  restlessly  aspiring  discontented  me. 
Wbat  1  wanted  who  can  say.?  How  can  J  say  when  I  never 
knew  I  "What  I  dreaded  was,  that  in  some  unlucky  hour  I,  being 
at  my  grimiest  and  commonest,  should  lift  up  my  eyes  and  see  Es- 
tella  looking  in  at  one  of  the  wooden  windows  of  the  f  >rge.  1  was 
haunted  by  the  fear  that 'she  would,  sooner  or  later,  find  mo  out, 
wilb  a  black  face  and  hands,  doing  the  coarest  part  of  my  \ 
and'  would  cad!  over  me  and  despise  me.  Often  after  dark  when 
I  was  pulling  the  bellow*  for  doe  and  we  were  singing  Old  Clem, 
and  when  the  thought  how  we  nsed  to  sing  it  at  Miss  Ilavisham's 
Would  seem  to  show  me  Estella's  face  in  the  lire  with  her  pretty 
hair  fluttering  in  the  wind  and  her  eyes  scorning  me — often  at  such 
a  time  I  would  took  toward  those  pannels,  of  black  night  in  the 
wall  which  the  wooden  windows  then  were,  and  would  fancy  that 
1  saw  her  just  drawing  her  face  away,  and  would  believe  that  she 
had  come  at   last. 

After  that,  when  we  went  info  Slipper,  the  place  and  the  meal 
would  have  a  more  homely  look  than  ever,  and  I  would  feel  more 
ashamed  of  home  than  in  my  own  ungraqious  breast. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


As  I  was  getting  too  big  for  Mr.  Wopflle's  great,  aunt's  room, 
my  education  unaer  that  preposterous  female  terminated.  Not, 
however,  until  Biddy  had  imparted  to  me  everything  she  knew, 
from  the  little  catalogue  of  prices  to  a  comic  song  she  had  once 


BE  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

bought  for  a  half-penny.     Although  the  only,  coherent  parts  of  the 
see  of  literature  were  the  open  lines, 

When  I  vvendto  Lunuot;  town  sir6 

ml  loo  nil 
Too  nil  loo  rul 

V>  ash'i  I  done  very  brown  sirs 

Too  nil  lo.ini] 
;  oo  nil  loo  nil 

— m\),  in  my  desire  ft>  be  wiser,  I  got  this  opmposil 

.   cavity;  nor  do  I  recollect  that   ]  questioned  its 

that  I  thought  (as  J  still  cl«)  the  aniount  of  Too  nil 

excess  pr"  [he  poetry'.     In  my  hunger  for   information 

1  rfrade  proposals'  £0  Mr.  Wopsle  to  bestow  some  intellectual  criinibs 

upon  me  :  with  which  lie  kindly  complied.  As  it  turned  out,  however, 

thai  lie  only  wanted  me  for  a  dramatic  lay  figure/ to   he  contra*- 

dvek'd  i braced  and  Wept. Over  and  bullied  ami  clutched  and 

ed  and  knocked  aboul  in  a  variety  of  ways,  i 

i  of  instruction  ;  though  not  until  .Mr.  V^opsle  in  hil 
rely  mauled  me. 
latever  1  acquired  I  tried  to*impi  .     This  statem 

s  no  well  that   i   cannot  in   my  conscience  let  it  pass  Unex- 
plained.    1  wanted  to  make  .lee   less  i'gvoran!   and  common, 
lie  imgln  be  worthier  of  my  society  and  less  open   t< 

• 
e  old  battery  out  on  the  marshes  was  our  place  i  and 

ken  slate  and  a  short  piece  o(  slate-pencil  were  durpduea 

:  to  which  .Joe  always  added  a  pipe  of  tobacco.     1 
.  oe  to  remember  anything  from  one  Sunday  to  anoth- 
er, oi  ire,  under  my  tuition,  ai:  '  information  what- 
Yet  be  would  smoke  his  pipe  at  the  battery  with  a  far  I 
.  ious  air  than  anywhere  else — 1  would  even  say  with  a  Ieai 
air — as  if  he  considered  himself  to  be  advancing  immensely. — 
fellow,  I  hope  he  did. 
It  was  pleasant  and  quiet  out  there,  -with  the  sails  on  the  i 
passing  beyond  the  earth-work,  and  sometimes  when  the  tide  was 
looking  as  if  they  belonged  to   sunken  ships  that  were  still 
sailing  on  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.     Whenever  1  watched  the 
vessels  standing  out  to  sea  with  their  white  sails  spread,  I 
how  thought  of  Miss  Havishaui  and  Estella ;' and   whenever." the 
light  struck  aslant  afar  off,  upon  a  cloud  of  sail   or  grceiyhill-side 
or  water-line,  it  was  just  the  same.     Miss  IJavisham  and  Estella 
and  the  strange  house  and  the  strange  life  appeared  to  nave  some- 
thing to  do  with  even  thing  that  .w,as  picturesqee. 

One  Sunday  when  Joe,  greatly  enjoying  his  pipe,  had  so  plumed 
himself  on  being  "most  awful  dull,"  that  1  hacf  given  him  up  ior 
the  day,  I  lay  on  the  earthwork  for  some  time  with  my  chin  on  my 
baud  descrying  traces  of  Miss  Havisham  and  Estella  all  over  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  89 

prospect,  in  the  sky  and  in  ihe  water,  until  at  last  I  resolved  to 
mention  a  thought  concerning  them  that  bad  been  much  in  inv 
head. 

'I  Jop,"  said  I;  "  don't  you  think  I  ought  to  make  Miss  Havisliam 

a  visit  ?" 

"  Well,  rip,"  returned  doe,  slowly  considering.     "  What  for  ? " 

"  What  for,  doe  I     What  is  any  vis'il  made  for  ?  " 

"  There  is  some  wisils  p'r'aps."  said  doe.  "  as  for  ever  remains 
•open  tQ  $)£> question,  Pip.     B,ut    in   regard  of  wishing  Miss  Havi- 
sham.     She  might   think  you  wanted   something — expected  some- 
thing of  her." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  1  might  say  that  I  did  nor,  doe  .'" 

••You  might,  old  chap,"  said  doe.  '-And  she  might  credit  it. 
Similarly  she  might n  t." 

■  doe  felt,  as  1  did,  that  he  had  made  a  point  there,, and  he  pulled 
hard  at  his  .  ipe  to  keep  himself  from  weakening  it  by  repetition. 

"  You  see.  J'ip."  doe  pursued,  as  soon  as  he  was   past  that  dan- 
4  Miss    Ravish  am   done   the  handsome  thing  l>y  you.     Wbefl 
Miss    llavisham  dime   the    handsome  thing  by  you.  she  called,  me 
back  to  say  to  me  as  that  were  all." 

'■  Yes,  doc      I   heard  her." 
,    '•  Am.,"  Joe  repeated  very  emphatically.  ■ 
:  tell  you,  I  heard   her.  ' 

"  Which  1  nrejantersay,  Tip,  it  might  he  that  her  meaning  v 
Make  a   end  on  it  ! — As  you  was  ! — Me  to  the  North  and  you   to 
in  sunders  !  " 

I  had  thought  of  that  too,  and  it  was  very  far  from  comforting 
to  me  to  find  that  he  had  thought  of  it  ;  tor  ii  seemed  to  render  i! 
more  probable. 

"Brit,  Jo 

"  Yes,  old  chap." 

"Here  am  I,  getting  on  in  the  first  year  of  my  time,  and  since 
the  ciay  of  my  being  bound  1  have  never'thanked  Miss  llavisham. 
or  asked  after  her.  or  shown  that  1  remember  her." 

"That's  true,  i'ip  :   and  unless  you  was  to  turn   her  out  a  Be 
shoes   ail    four   round — and   whieh  1    meantersay  as  even  a  set  of 
shoes  all  four  round  might  not  act.  acceptable  as  a  present,  iu  a  to- 
tal wacaiicy  of  hoofs — " 

••  i  don't  mean  that  sort  ot  remembrance,  .Toe;  I  don't  mean  a 
present." 

But  doe  had  got  the  idea  of  a  present  in  his  head  and  must  harp 
upon  it. 

"Or  even,"  said  he,  "if  you  was  helped  to  knocking  her  up  a 
new  chain  for  the  front  door — or  say  a  gross  or  two  of  shirk-Head- 
ed screws  lor  general  use — or  some  light  fancy  article,  such  as  a 
toasting-fork  when  she  took  her  muffinst— or  a  gridiron  when  she 
took  a  sprat  or  such  like — " 


90  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  I  don't  irean  any  present  at  all,  Joe,"  I  interposed. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  still  harping  on  it  as  though  I  had  particu- 
larly pressed  it,  "'if  I  was  yourself,  Pip,  I  wouldn't;  No  I  would 
not.  For  what's  a  door-chain  when  she's  got  one  always  up? — 
.And  shark-headers  is.  open  to  misrepresentations.  <  Audit  it  was  a 
toasting-fork,  you'd  go  into  brass  and  do  yourself  no  credit.  And 
the  oncommouest  workman  can't  show  himself  uncommon  in  a 
gridiron — for  a  gridiron  is  a  gridiron,"  said  Joe,* steadfastly  im- 
pressing it  upon  me,  as  if  he  were  endeavoring  to  rouge  me.  from 
a  fixed  delusion,  "and  you  ma}-  haim  at  what  you  like,  but  a  grid- 
iron .it  Will  come  out,  either  by  your  leave  or  again  your  leave,  and- 
you  can't  help  yourself—" 

"  My  dear  Joe,"  I  cried  in  desperation,  taking  hold  of  his  c 
'"don't  go  on  in  that  way.     I  never  thought  of  making  Miss  liav- 
isham  any  present." 

"No,  Pip,"  Joe  assented,  as  if  he  had  been  contending  for  that 
all  along:  "and  what  I  say  to  you  is,  you  are  right,  Pip." 

"Yes,  Joe;  but  what  1  wanted  to  say  was,  that  as  we  are  rath- 
er slack  just  now,  if  you  could  give  me  a  half  holiday  to-morrow, 
I  think  I  would  go  up  town  and  make  a  call  on  Miss  Est — Llavi- 
sham." 

"  Which  her  name,"  said  Joe,  gravely,  "  ain't  Estavisham,  Pip, 
unless  she  have  been  rechrislened. ' 

"  I  know,  Joe,  I  know.  It  was  a  slip  of  mine.  What  do  you 
think  of  it,  Joe?" 

In  brief,  Joe  thought  that  if  I  thought  well  of  it,-. he  thought 
well  of  it.  But  he  was  particular  in  stipulating  that  if  I  were  not 
received  with  cordiality,  or  if  I  were  not  encouraged  to  repeat-  my 
visit  as  a  visit  which  had  no  ulterior  object  but  was  simply  one  of 
gratitude  for  a  favor  received,  then  this  experimental  trip  should 
have  no  successor.     By  these  conditions  I  promised  to  abide. 

Now  Joe  kept  a  journeyman  at  weekly  wages  whose  name  was 
Orlick.  He  pretended  that  his  Christian  name  was  Dolge — a 
clear  impossibility — but,  he  was  a  fellow  of  that  obstinate  disposi- 
tion that  I  believe  him  to  have  been  the  prey  of  no  delusion  in  this 
particular,  but  wilfully  to  have  imposed  that  name  upon  the  vil- 
lage as  an  affront  to  its  understanding.  He  was  a  broad-shoulder- 
ed, loose-limbed,  swarthy  fellow  of  great  strength,  never  in  a  hurry, 
and  always  slouching.'  He  never  even  seemed  to  come  to  his  work 
on  purpose,  but  would  slouch  in  as  if  by  mere  accident;  and  when 
he  went,  to  the  Jolly  Bargemen  to  eat  his  dinner,  or  went  away-  at 
night,  he  would  slouch  out  like  Cain  or  the  Wandering  Jew,  as  if 
he  had  no  idea  where  he  was  going  and  no  intention  of  ever  com- 
ing"back.  He  lodged  at  a  sluice-keeper's  out  on  the  marshes,  and 
on  working  days  would  come  slouching  from  his  hermitage,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pocket  and  his  dinner  loosely  tied  in  a  bundle 
round  his  neck  and  dangling  on  his  back.     On  Sundays  he  mostly 


GREAT  EXFECTATJ'  9J 

lay  all  clay  on  sluice  gates,  or  stood  agaifist  ricks  or  barns.  He 
always  slouched,  loconiotively.  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  :  and, 
when  accosted  or  otherwise  required  to  raise  them,  he  looked  u;> 
in  a  half  resentful,  half  puzzled  way.  as  though  (he  only  thought 
he  ever  had,  was,  thai  it  was  rather  an  odd  and  injurious  faol 
lie  should  never  be,  thinking. 

This  morose  journeyman  had  no  liking  for  me.  "When  1  was 
very  small  and  timid,  he  gftVe  me  to  understand  that  the  Devil 
lived  in  a  black  corner  of  the  forge,  and  that  be  knew  the  fiend 
very  well  ;  also  that  it  was  necessary  to  make  up  the  lire  once  in 
every  seven  years  with  a  live  boy.  and  that  I  might  consider  my- 
self fuel.  When  I  became  Joe's  'prentice  boy,  he  was  perhaps 
confirmed  in  some  suspicion  that  I  should  displace  him  ;  howheii. 
He  liked  me  still  less.  Nol  thai  he  ever  said  any  thing,  or  did 
any  thing  openly  importing  hostility;  I  only  noticed  that,  he  al- 
ways he.it  bis  sparks  in  my  direction,  and  thai  whenever]  sang 
Old  Clem  he  came  in  out  of  time. 

Dolge  Orlic  t  was  at  work  and  present,  next  day,  when  1  re- 
minded doe  of  my  half-holiday.  He  said  nothing  at  the  moment, 
for  he  and  doe  had  just  got  a  piece  of  hot  iron  between  them  and 
1  was  at  the  bellows ;  but  by-and-by  he  said,  leaning  on  his  ham- 
mei  .- 

'^Now,  master!  Sure  you're  not  a  going  to  favor  only  one  of 
us.  If  Young  Pip  has  a  half-holiday,  do  as  much  lor  ( )  d  Orlick." 
I  suppose  be  was  about,  !ive-aud-twcnty.  but  he  usually  spoke  .of 
himself  as  an  ancient  person. 

•'  Why,  what'll  you  do  with  a  half-holiday,  if  you  get  it  I"  said 
Joe. 

'     "What'll   /do  with  it!     What'll  he  do' with   it  1     I'll  do  as 
much  with  it  as  him"  said  Orlick. 

"  As  to  1'ip.  he's  going  up  town,"  said  .1, 

"  Well,  then,  as  to  Old  Orlick. //e'.v  going  up   town,"  retorted 
,  that  worthy      "  Two  can  go  up  town.     Tan't  only  one  wot  can  go 
up  town  " 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper,"  said  Joe. 

"  Shall  if  I  like,"  growled  Orlick.  .Some  and  their  up-towuing  I 
Xow.^master!     Come.     No  favoring  in  this  shop.     Be  a  man." 

The  master  refusing  to  entertain  the  subject  until  the  journey- 
man was  in  a  better  temper,  Orlick  plunged  at.  the  furnace,  drew 
out  a  red  hot  bar,  made  at  me  with  it  as  if  he  were  goitfg  to  run  it, 
through  my  body,  whisked  it  round  my  head,  laid  it.  on  the  anvil, 
hammered  it  out — as  if  it  were  I,  1  thought",  and  the  sparks  were 
my  spirting  blood — and  finally  said,  when  lie  had  hammered  him- 
self hoi  ai  d  the  iron  cold,  and  he  again  leaned  on  his  hammer  : 

"Now,  master !" 

"  Are  you  all  right  now  :"  demanded  • 

"  Ah  !   1  am  all.right,"  said  gruff  Old  Orlick. 


92  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Then,  as  in  general  you  stick  to  your  work  as  well  as  most 
men,"  said  Joe,  "  let  it  he  a  half-holiday  for  all." 

My  sister  had  been  standing  silent  in.  the  jiard,  within  hearing- 
she  was  a  most  unscrupulous  spy  and  listener — and  she  instantly 
looked  in  at  one  of  the  windows. 

"Like  you,  you  fool!"  said  she  to  Joe,  "  giving  holidays  to 
great  idle  hulkers  like  that.     You  are  a  rich  man,  upou  my  life,  to 
waste  wages  in  that  way.     I  wish  /was  his  master !" 
'  "You'd  be  every  body's  master,  if  you  durst,"  retorted  Orlick, 
with  an  ill-favored  grin. 

("  Let  her  alone,"  said  ^oe.) 

"  I'd  be  a  match  for  all  noodles  and  all  rogues,"  returned  my 
sister,  beginning  'to  work  herse  f  into  a  mighty  rage.  "  And  I 
couldn't  be  a  match  for  the  noodles  without  being  a  match  tor 
your  master,  who's  the  duuder-headed  king  of  the  noodles.  And 
i  couldn't  be  a  match  for  the  rogues,  without  being  a  match  for 
you,  who  are  the  blackest-looking  and  the  worst  rogue  between 
this  and  France.     Now!" 

"You're  a  foul  shrew,  Mother  Gargery,"  growVd  the  journey- 
man. "  If  that  makes  a  judge  of  rogues,  you  ought  to  be  a  good 
'im." 

("  Let  her  alone,  will  you  V  said  Joe.) 

"What  did  you  say  f  cried  my  sister,  beginning  to'  scream. 
"  What  did  you  say  ?  What  did  that  fel  ow  Orlick  say  to  me, 
Pip  '?     What  did  he  call  me,  with  my  husband  standing  by?     0  ! 

0  !  0!"  Each  of  these  exclamations  was  a  shriek;  and  I  must 
remark  of  my  sister,  what  is  equally  true  of  all  the  violent  women 

1  have  ever  seen,  tha*t  passion  was  no  excuse  for  her,  because  it  is 
undeniable  that,  instead  of  lapsing  into  passion,  she  consciously 
and  de  iberately  took  extraordinary  pains  to  force  herself  into  it, 
and  became  blindly  furious  by  regular  stages;  "what  was  the 
name  he  gave  me  before  the  base  man  who  swore  to  defend  me  1 
0!  Hold  me!  0!"  . 

"  Ah-h-h  !"  growled  the  journeyman,  between  his  teeth,  "I'd 
hold  you,  if  you  was  my  wife.  I'd  hold  you  under  the  pump,  and 
choke  it  out  of  you." 

("  I  tell  you,  let  her  alone,"  said  Joe.) 

"  0  !  To  hear  him  !"  cried  my  sister,  with  a  clap  of  her  hands 
and  a  scream  together — which  was  her  next  stage.  "  To  hear 
tlie  names  he's  giving  me  !  That  Orlick!  In  my  own  house! 
Me,  a  married  woman  !  With  my  husband  standing  by  !  0  ! 
0  !"  Here  my  sister,  after. a  tit  of  clappings  and  screamings,  beat 
her  hands  upon  her  bosom  and  upon  her  knees,  and  threw  her  cap 
-off  and  pulled  her  hair  down— which  were  her  last  stages  on  her 
road  to  frenzy.  Being  by  this  time,  a  perfect  Fury  and  a  com- 
plete success,  she  made  a  dash  at  the  door,  which  I  had  fortunate- 
ly locked. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  93 

What  could  the  wretched  Joe  do  now,  after  his  disregarded  pa- 
renfhetical  interruptions,  hut  stand  up  to  his  journeyman  and«ask 
him  whal  he  mean!  by  interfering  benvixf  himself  and  Mrs.  Joe  ; 
and  further,  whether  he  was  man  enough  to  come  on  1  Old  Or 
lie'/,  felt  that  the  situation  admitted  of  nothing  less. than  coming  on, 
and  was  on  lis  defence  straightway  :  so,  without  so  much  as  pull- 
ing off  their  singed  and  Imrned  aprons,  they  went  at  one  another 
like  two  giants.  But  if  any  man  in  that  neighbourhood  cou  d  stand 
up  long  against  Joe,  1  never  saw  the  man.  Orlick,.as  if  he  had 
been  of  no  more  account  than  the  pale  yoUhg  gentleman,  was  very 
soon  among  the  coal-dusl  and  in  no  hurry  to  come  out  of  it!  Then 
Joe  unlocked  the  di  or  and  picked  up  my  sister,  who  had  dropped 
inseiisihle  at  the  window  (nut  who  had  seen  the  tight  first,  I  think), 
and  who  was  carried  into  l lie  house  and  laid  down,  and  who  was 
recommended  to  revive,  and  would  do  nothing  butstrugge  and 
clench  her  hands  in  Joe's  hair.  Then  came  that  singular  ealm 
and  silence  which  succeed  all  uproars;  and  then,  with  the  vague 
sensation  which  1  have  always  connected  with  that  lull — namely, 
I  hat  ii  was  Sunday,  and  somebody  was  dead — I  went  up  stairs  to 
dress  myself. 

When  I  came  down  again  I  found  Joe  and  Orlicl;  sweeping  up, 
.without  any  other  traces  of  discomposure  than  a  slit  in  one  of  Or- 
lick's  nostrils,  which  was  neither  expressive  nor  ornamental.  A 
pot  of  beer  had  appeared  from  the  Jolly  Bargemen,  and  the)-  were 
sharing  it  by  turns  in  a  peaceable  manner.  The  lull  had  a  seda- 
tive and  philosophic  influence  on  Joe,  who  followed  me  out  into 
the  read  to  say.  as  a  parting  observation  that  might  do  me  good, 
"  i  Mi  the  Ram-page,,  Pip,  and  oil'  the  Rampage.  Tip — such  is  1,. 

With  what  ab.sutd.einoiions  (  or  we 'think  the  feelings  that  are 
very  serious  in  a  man  quite  comical  in  a  boy)  I  found  myse  f  "gain 
g  to  Miss  llavisham's  mailers  lirtle  here.  Nor  how  1  pass*  d 
and  repassed  the  gate  many  times  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind 
to  ring;  nor  how  1  debated  whether  I  should  go  away  without 
ringing;  nor  how  1  should  undoubtedly  have  gone,  if  my  time  had 
been  my  own  to  come  bar!.. 

Miss-Sarah  Pi  e  to  the  gate.    No  Estella. 

i.'     You  here   again?"  said   Miss   Pocket.     "What 
U  want  I" 
When  1  said  tb  came  to  see   how  Miss  Havisham   was, 

baiab  evidently  <  'whether  or  no  she  should  send  me 

it  my  business.     But   unwilling  to  hazard  the  responsibjl 
let  me  in,  and  presently  brought  the  sfl  that  1  was 

come  up." 

mi   was  alone. — 
,  on   me,  "  1    hope  you  \ 
Hothing  .'     i  ou'll  gel  nothii 
"  iVu,  indued.  Mits  iiaviiiutm.     I  only  wanted  you  to  know  thai 


94  GfREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  am  doing  very  well  in  my  apprenticeship,  and  am  always  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"  There,  there  !"  with  the*old  restless  fingers.     "  Come  now  and 
then  ;  come  on  your  birthday.     Ay  !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  turning 
herself  and  her  chair  toward  me,  "you  are  looking  round  for  Es- 
Heyl" 

I  had  been  looking  round,  in  fact,  for  Estella;  and  I  stammered 
that  1  hoped  she  was  well. 

'     "  Abroad,"  said  Miss  Havisham  ;  "  educating  for  a  lady  ;  far  out 
'of  reach  ;  prettier  than  ever;  admired  by  all  who  see' her.  Do  you 
feel  that  you  have  lost  her  ? " 

There  was  such  a  malignant  enjoyment  in  her  utterance  of  the 
last  words,  and  she  broke  into  such  a  disagreeable  laugh,  that  I 
was  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  She  spared  me  the  trouble  of  consid- 
ering by  dismissing  me.  When  the  gate  was  closed  upon  me  by 
>h,  of  the  walnut-shell  countenance,  I  felt  more  than  ever  dis- 
satisfied with  my  home  and  with  my  trade  and  with  everything  ; 
and  that  was  all  I  took  by  that  motion. 

As  I  was  loitering  along  the  High  Street,  looking  in  disconso- 
lately at  the  shop-windows,  and  thinking  what  I  should  buy  if  I 
were  a.  gentleman,  who  should  come  out  of  the  book-shop  but  Mr. 
Wopsle.  Mr.  Wopsle  had  in  his  hand  the  affecting  tragedy'  of 
George  Barnwell,  in  which  he  had  that  moment  invested  sixpence, 
with  the  view  of  heaping  every  word  of  it  on  the  head  of  Pumble- 
chook,  with  whom  he  was  going  to  drink  tea.  No  sooner  did  lie' 
see  me  than  he  appeared  to  consider  that  a  special  Providence  had 
put  a  'prentice  in  his  way  to  be  read  at;  and' he  laid  bold  of  me 
and  insisted  on  my  a<*companyinghim  to  the  Pumbleohookian  par- 
lor. As  I  knew  it  would  be  miserable  at  home,  and  as  the  nights 
were  dark  and  the  way  was  dreary,  and  almost  any  companionship 
On  the  road  was  better  than  none,  I  made  no  grdat  resistance  ;  con- 
sequently we  turned  into  Pumblechook's  just  as  the  streets  and 
the  shops  were  lighting  up. 

As  1  never  assisted  at  any  other  representation  of  George  Barn- 
well, I  don't  know  how  long  it  may  usually  take  ;  but  1  know  very 
well,  that  it  took  until  past  nine  o'clock  that  night,  and  that  when 
Mr.  Wopsle  got  into  Newgate!  thought  he  never  would  go  to  the 
scaffold,  he  became  so  much  slower  than  at  any  former  period  of 
his  disgraceful  career.  I  thought  it  a  little  too  much  that  he  should 
complain  of  being  cut  short  in  his  flower  after  all,  as  if  he  had  not 
been  running  to  seed,  leaf  after  leaf,  ever  since  he  was  taken  up. 
This,  however,  was  a  mere  question  of  length  and  wearisoufeness. 
What  stung  me  was  the  identification  of  the  whole- affair  with  my 
unoffending  self.  When  Barnwell  began  to  go  wrong,  I  declare 
that  I  felt  positively  apologetic,  Pumblechook's  indignant  stare  so 
taxed  me  with  it.  Wopsle,  too,  took  pains  to  present  me  in'  the 
worst  light.    At  once  ferocious  and  maudlin,  I  was  made  to  niur- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  95 

der  my  uncle  with  no  extenuatii  astauces  whatever ;  Mil- 

wood  put  me  down  in  argument  on  e.very  occasion  ;  if  became  sheer 

nionumaui;1  in  niy  master's  daughter  to  care.  ;i  hill  Inn  for  mil'  ;  and 
all  1  can  say  for  my  gasping  and'  procrastinating  conducl  on  tbe 
fatal  morning  is,  that  it  was  worthy' of  the  general  feeblenes: 
my  character.  Even  after  I  was  happily  hanged,«and  Wopslehad 
closed  the  book;  Pumhlechqok  sat  staring  at  me,  and  shaking  his 
head,  and  saying,  "Take  warning,. boy  !  Hake  warning- !"  as  if  it 
were  a  well-known  fact  that,  in  my  private  I    con  empla 

ted  murdering  a  near  relation,  provided  1  could  induce  one  to  have 
the  weakness  to  become  my  benefactor. 

It  was  a  very  dark  night  when  it  was  all  ever,  and  when  I  set 
out  will;  Yir.  Wopsle  on  the  walk  home.  Beyond  town  we  found  a 
heavy  misi  out,  and  it  fell  we!  and  thick.  The  turnpike  lamp  was 
a  blur,  quite  out  of  the  lamp's  usual  place  apparently,  and  its  rays 
looked  solid  substance, on  the  fog.  VVe  were  noticing  this,  and  say- 
ing how  that  the  mist  rose  with  a  change  of  wind  from  a  certain 
quarter  of  our  marshes,  when  we  came  upon  a  man  slouching  un- 
der the  lee  of  the  turnpike  In 

"  Halloa  !  "  we  said  stopping.  "  <  Mick  there  !  " 

"  .Mi !"  he  answered,  slouching  out.     "  i  was  standing  by.  a  min- 

"ii  the  chance  of  company." 
■•  Ton  are  late,"  I  remarked. 

Orlick  not  unnaturally  answered.  '•  Well  .'     And  you've,  late." 
"  We   have   been,"  said   Mr.  Wopsle.  exalted  with  his  late  per- 
formance— -"we  have  been  indulging,  Mr.  Ojrliek,  in  an  intellectual 
evening.'' 

Old  Orlick  growled,  as  if  he  had  nothing  to»say  about  that, 
we  all  went  on  together.     I   asked  him  presently  whether  he  had 
spending  his  half-holiday  up  and  down  low 
"  Yes,"  said  he,  "all  of  it.     1  come  in  behind  yourself.     I  didn't 
see  you,  bul  1  must  have  been  pretty  close  behind  you.     By-the-by 
ig  again." 
.1  the  Hulks?"  said  1. 
"•Ay  I     Tftere'ji  some  of  thesbirds  flown   from  the  The 

guns  have  been  got  dark,  about.      You'll  hear  one  pres- 

ently." 

In  (fleet,  we  had  not  walked  man  rfher  when  thewell- 

tnbened  I  i  yard  us.  deadened  by  the  mist,  and 

ly  rolled  away  along  the  low  grounds   by  the  river,  as  it'  it 
were  |  ining  tic 

■ !  nighl  for  cut  i  id  <  Hick.    We'd  he  puz- 

iow  to  I. ring  down  a  jail-bird  on  to-night." 

:id    I    thought   about 

ill-requited  uncle  of  th  even- 
ing's ftragedy,  fell  to  meditating  aloud  in  his  garden  at  C'amher- 
well.     Orlick,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  slouched  heavily  at 


96  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

my  side.  It  was  very  dark,  very  wet,  very  muddy,  and  so  we 
splashed  along.  Now  and  then  the  sound  of  the  signal  eannon 
broke  upon  us  again,  and  again  rolled  sulkily  along  the  course  of 
the  river.  I  kept  myself  to  myself  and  my  thoughts.  Mr.  Wop- 
sle  died  amiably  a  Camberwell,  and  exceedingly  gams  on  Bos- 
. Hi-ill  Field,  .and  in  the  greatest  agonies  at  Glastonbury.  Orlick 
somi  times  growled,  "  Bear  it  out,  beat  it  out — old  Clem  !  "With  a 
clink  for  the  stout — old  'Clem  !  "  I  thought  he  had  been  drinking, 
but  he  was  not  drunk. 

L  bus  we  came  to  the  village.'  The  way  by  which  we  approached 
it-took  us  past  the  Three  Jolly  Bargemen,  which  we  were  surprised 
to  rind — it  being  eleven  o'clock — in  a  state  of  commotion,  with  the 
door  wide  open,  and  unwonted  lights,  that  had  been  hastily  caught 
up  and  put  down,  scattered  about.  Mr.  Wopsle  dropped  in  to  ask 
what  was  the  matter  (surmising  that  a  convict  had  been  taken), 
but  came  running  out  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  There's  something  wrong,"  said  he,  without  stopping,  "  up  at 
your  place,  Tip.     Run  all !  " 

"  What  is  it  V  1  asked,  keeping  up  with  him.  So  did  Orlick,  at 
my  side. 

"  1  can't  quite  understand.  The  house  seems  to  have  been  vi- 
olently entered  when  Joe  was  out..  Supposed  by  convicts.  Some- 
body has  been  attacked  and  hurt." 

\W  were  running  too  fast  to  admit  of  more  being  said,  and  we 
made  no  stop  until  we  got  into  our  kitchen.  It  was  full  of  peo- 
ple ;  the  whole  village  was  there,  or  in  the  yard  ;  and  there  was  a' 
surgeon,  and  there  was  Joe,  and  there  were  a  group  of  women,  all 
on  the  floor  in  the  midst  of  the  kitchen.  The  unemployed  by- 
standers drew  back  when  they  saw  me,  and  so  I  became  aware  of 
my  sister — lying  without  sense  or  movement  on.  the  bare  boards 
where  she  had  been  knocked  down  by  a  tremendous  blow  on  the 
back  of  the  head,  dealt  by  some  unknown  hand  when  her  face  was 
'turned  toward  the  lire — destined  never  to  be  on  tin*  ram-page 
again  while  she  was  wile  of  Joe. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


With  my  head  full  of  George  Barnwell,  I  was.at  first  disposed 
to  believe  that  I  must  have  had  some  hand  in  the  attack  upon  my 
sister,  or  at  all  events  that  as  her  near  relation,  popularly  known 
to  be  under. obligations  to  her,  I  was  a  more  legitimate  object  of 
suspicion  than  any  one  else.    But  when,  in  the  clearer  li&ht  of 


GEE  A  r  EXPECTA  i'l O  SfS; 

next  morning,  I  began  to  reconsider  the  {flatter  and  bo  hear  it  dis. 
cussed  around  me  on  all  sides,  1  took  another  vie1 
which  was  more  reasonable. 


Joe  bad  been  at  the  5Tbree  Jo] 


K'l),  Si  lit  i 


|ii,. 


'.  to  a  quarter  before  fen.     While 
he  was   I  sister  bad   been  seen  standing  al    the  ki 

I    bad  exchanged  il   wit  h  alarm 

home.     The  man  could  not  b'e  more  particular  as  to  th#e  time  at 
which  lie  saw  her  info   dense  confusion  who- 

be)  than -thai;  it  n  been   before  nine.     When  Joe    went 

home  at  five  minutes  before  ten  he  found  her  struck  down  on  the 
floor,  and  promptly  called  in   assistance.     The  fir.i 
burned  unusually  low,  nor  was  the  snuff  of  the  candle  v\*ry  long; 
the  candle,  bo  d  been  blown  out. 

Nothing  bad  been  taken  away  ; 
the-r,  beyond  the  blowing  out  of  the  eandle — which  stood  on  a 'ta- 
ble ll.e  door  and  my  sifter,  and  was  behind  iter  win  n  she 

ruck — was  there  any  disarrange- 
ment Of  thekitehen,  excepting  such  as  she  herself  had  made-  in 
falling  and  bleeding.     But  there  was  one  remarkable  pieee1  of  evi- 
dence JITe  had  been  struck  with  something  blunl 
and  heavy  on  the  head  and  *pine;    after  the  blowawi 
something  heavy  had  been  thrown  down  at  her  with  considerable 
violence  as  she  lay  on   her  face.      And 'on  the  ground  besid 
when  Joe  picked  her  ii]  leg-iron  whir'' 
filed  asunder. 

Now  doe.  examining  this  iron  with  a  smith's  i 
have  been  filed  asunder  some  time  ago.     The  hue  and  cry  going 
off  to  the  Hulks,  and  p  i    uiingthepcetoexamiiie.il 

Joe's  opinion  was  corroborated.     They  did  not    und 
it  bad  left  the  prison-ships,  to  whuah  it  undoubi 
belonged  ;   but  they  claimed  to  ki  c  ittain  that  tba,t  particu- 

n  worn  by  either  of  two  con\         >        had 
escaped   I  Further,  one  of  those  two  Wi  \  re- 

taken, and  hoed  himself  of  his  iron. 

Kqowing  what  I  knev  an  inieie  ■  own  here.   1 

belie  iron  to  be  my  convict's  iron — the  iron    1 

and  heard  him  filing  at  J  mind  dA 

viiii:  put  it  to  its  latest  use.     F.  ie  of 

two  other  to  have  become  possessed  of  it,  have 

turned  it  to  this  cruel  account.     Either  Oriiok;or;the  i  man 

who  had  shown  me,  the  fde. 

No  ' i- lick,  be  had   gone  itlj  told 

us  when  we  picked   him   up  at  the  turnpike;    he  hi 
about  town  all  the  evening,  ,  ps  in 

several  public  houses,  and  he  yself  and  Mr. 

Wopale.    There  wai  nothing  .dw  lave  the  quarrel  ;    and 


98  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

my  .sister  bad  quarreled  ■with  him,  and  with  every  body  else  about 
her,  ten  thousand  times.  As  to  the  strange  man,  if  he  had  come 
back  for  his  two  bank-notes  there  could  have  been  no  dispute 
about  them,,  because  my  sister  was  fuilj  prepared  to  restore  them. 
Besides,  there  had  been  no  altercation  ;  the  assailant  bad  come  in 
so  silent  and  suddenly  that  she  had  been  felled  before  she  could 
look  round*  • 

It  was.,  horribie  to  think  that  I  had  provided  the  weapon,  how- 
ever undesignedly,  but  I  could  hardly  think  otherwise.     I  suffer- 
ed unspeakable  trouble  while  I  considered  and  reconsidered  whe- 
ther r'should  at  last  dissolve  that  spell  of  my  childhood,  and  tell 
Joe  all  the  story.     For  months  afterward  I  every  day  settled  the 
question  finally  in  the  negative,  and  reopened  and  reargued  it 
morning.     The  contention  came,  alter  all,  to  this,'  the  seorej  was 
such  an  old  one  now.  had  so  grown  into  me  and  become  a  pa 
myself,  that    I  could  not  tear  it  away.     In  addition  to  ike  dread 
that,   having  led  up  to  so  much   mischief,  it  would   be   now  more 
likely  than  ever  to  alienate  Joe  from  me  if  he  believed  ii.  I  had 
the  further   restraining  dread   that  he  would  not  be.ieve  it , •but 
would  assort  it  with  the  fabulous  dogs  and  vea.1  cutlets  a-,  a  mon- 
strous invention.     However,  I  temporized  with  myself,  of  course 
— for,  was    I  not    wavering  between  right  and  Wrong,  when   the 
thing  is  always  done  1 — and  resolved  to  make  a  full  (Jiscpsnre  if 
i  should  see  any  such  new  occasion  as  a  new  chance  of  helping  in 
the  discovery  of  the  assailant. 

The  Constables,  and  ihe  Bow  Street  men  from  London — for  this 
happened  in  the  days  'of  the  extinct  red  waistcoated  police— were 
about.  th|p  house  for  a  week  or  two;  and  did  pretty  much  what  I 
have  heard  and  read  of  like  authorities  doing  in  other  such  cases. 
They  took  up  several  obviously  wrong  people,  and  they  ran  their 
heads  very  hard  against  wrong  ideas,  and  persisted  in  trying.ro 
lit  the  circumstances  to  the  ideas,  instead  of  trying  to  extract  ideas 
from  the  circumstances.  Also,  they  stood  about  the  door  of  the 
Jolly  Bargemen,  with  knowing  and  reserved  looks,  that  filled  the 
whole  neighborhood  with  admiral  ion  ;  and  they  had  a  mysterious 
manner  ot  taking  their  drink,  that  was  almost  as  good  as  taking 
the  culprit.     But  not  quite,  for  they  never  did  it. 

Long  after  these"  constitutional  powers  had  dispersed  my  sister 
lay  very  ill  in  k-d.  Her  sight  was  disturbed,  so  that  she  saw  ob- 
jects multiplied,  and  grasped  at  visionary  tea-cups  and  wine-glass- 
es instead  of  realities;  her  hearing  was  greatly  impaired';  her 
memory  also  ;  aud  her  speech  was  unintelligible.  When  at  hist 
she  came  round  so  far  as  10  be  helped  down  stairs,  it  was  still  ne- 
cessary to  keep  ray  s.ate  always  by  her,  that  she  might  indicate  in 
writing  what  she  could  Hot  indicate  in  speech.  As  she  was  (very 
bad  handwriting  apart)  a  more  than  indifferent  speller,  and  as  Joe 
was*  a  nior«  than  indifferent  reader,  extraordinat^  complications 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  yy 

arose  between  them,  which  I  was  always  called  in  to  solve.     The 
administration  of  niutton  instead  of  iiii'dicine,  fctie  substitufi 
Tea  for  Joe,  and  the  baker  for  bacon,  were  afiiong  the  mildest  of 
own  rtikd'al 

However,  her  temper  was  greatly  improved  and  she  was'patii 
A  tremulous  uncertainty  of  the  action  of  all  her  limbs  soon  became 
a  part  of  her  regular  state,  and  afterward,  at  intervals   of  i*. 
three  months,  she  would   often   pat  her  hands   to  bet*    head   and 
would   then   remain  for  about  a  week  at  a  time  in  sort! 
aberration  of  mind.     Wo  wore  a;   a  loss  to  lind  a  siiitab'le  attend- 
ant for  her,  until  a  circumstance  happened  convenient:^   to  relieve 
us.     .Mr.  Wopsk-'s  great  aunt  conquered  a  confirmed  habit  of  liv- 
ing into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  Biddy  became  P  our 
establishment.                               •  * 

It  may  have  been  about,  a  month  after  my  sister's *reappe#rance 
in  the  kitdhen  when  Bidfly  game  to  us  with  a  small 
cohtainihg-the  whole  of  her  worldly  effects,  and   became  a  bless- 
ing to  the  household.     Above  all,  she  was  a  blessing  to  Jo< 
the  dear  old   fellow  was  sadly  cut  up  by  the  constant  c   i 
tion  of  the  wreck  of  his  wife,  and  had  been  accustomed,  while  at- 
tending on  her  all  the  evening,  to  turn  to  me  every  now  and  then, 
and  say.  with  his  blue  eye  moistened,  "  Such  a   fin 
woman  as  she  once  were,  Pip  !"     Kiddy  instantly  takh  g 
crest  charge  of  her,  as  though  she  had  studied  her  from 
Joe  became  able  in  some  sort  to  appre  iate  the  greater  quiet  of  his 
life,  and  to  gel  down  to  the  Jolly  Bargemen  ""W  &tid  'hen.  for  a 
change  that   did  him  good.      It   was  characterise 
people  that  they  had  all  more  or  less  suspevefced  poor  Joe  (tli 
ever  (mew  it,)  and  that  they  had  to  a  man  concurred  in 
ing  him  as  one  of  the  deepest  spirits'they  had  e*ver  cue  >uu'-. 
tered; 

I>iddy's  first  triumph  in  her  new  office  was  to  solve  a  difficulty 
had    completely  vanquished  me.      I  had  tried  hard  al  it,  but 
hal  made  nothing  of  it.     Thus  it  was: 

g  lin  and  again  and  again  my  sister  had  traced  upon  the  slate 
a  character  that  looked  like  a  curious  T,  and  then,  with  the  utmost, 
eagerness,  had  cal  ed  our  attention  to  it  as  something  she.  particu- 
larly wanted.  1  had  in  vain  tried  every  thing  producible'  tha 
gan  with  a  T,  from  tar  to  toast  and  tub.  At  length  it  had  come 
into  my  head  that  the  sign  looked  like  a  hammer,  and  on  my  lusti- 
ly calling  that  word  in  my  sister's  ear  she  had  begun  to  hammer  on 
the  table,  and  expressed  a  qualified  assent.  Thereupon  I  had 
brought  in  all  our  hammers,  one  after  another,  but  \  avail. 

Then  1  betbohghl  me  of  a  crutch,  the  shape  being  much  the  same, 
and  I  borrowed  one  of  a  criple  iu  the  village,  and  displayed  it  to 
my  bistu:  with  considerable  oontiduuee.     But  ska  shook  her  head 


UK)  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

to  that  extent,  when  she  was  shown  it,  that  we  were  terrified  lest, 
in  her  weak  and  shattered  state,  she  should  dislocate  her  neck.. 

When  my  sister  found  that  Biddy  was  very  (.j.nick  to'uijderstand 
her,  this -mysterious  sign  immediately  reappeared  on  the  slate. — 
Biddy  looked  thoughtfully   at  it,   heard   m  nation,  looked 

thoughtfully  at  my  sister,  looked  thoughtfully  at  Joe,  (who  was  al- 
ways represented  on.  the  slate  by  his  initial  letter),  avid  ran 
the  forge,  followed  by  Joe  and  nie. 

"  Why,  of  course!"  cried  Biddy  with  an  exultant  face.  ".Don't 
you  see  ?     Itrs  liha  /" 

Orlick,  without  a  doubt !      She  had  lost  hi  ooifirl 

only  signify  him  by  his  hammer.      We  told  hin.i   why  we  wanted 
him  to  come  into  the  kitchen,' and  he  slowly  laid  down  his  ham-- 
,mer,  wiped  Ids  brow  with  his  arm,  took  another  wipi 
aprrom  and  came  slouching  out,  with  a  curious  loose,  vagabond 
in  the  knees  that  strongly  distinguished  him. 

1  confess  that   I   expected   to  see  my  sister  denounce  him,  and 
that  I  was  disappointed   by  the  different  result,      .she   manii' 
the  greatest  anxiety  to  be  on  good  terms  with   him  ;   was  evith 
much  pleased   by  his  being  at  length  produced,  and   motioned  that 
she  would  have  him  given  something  to  drink.      She  watched  hrs 
iteuaace  as  if  she  were  particularly  wishful  to  ho  assured  that 
he  took  kindly  to  his  reception  ;  she  showed  every  possible  desire 
to  conciliafe  him  ;  and  there  was  an  air  of  humble  propitiation  in 
all  she  did,  such  as  i  have  seen  pervade  tlie  hearing  of  a  frighten- 
ed child  toward  a  hard  master.     After  that  day,  a  day  rarely  pass- 
ed without  her  drawing  the  hammer  on    her  slate,  and  without  Or-r: 
lick's  slouching  in  and  standing  doggedly  befoYe  her,  as  if  he  knew 
re  than  1  did  what  to  make  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

1  now  fell  into  a  regular  routine  of  apprenticeship  life,  which 
was  varied,  beyond  the  limits  of  the  village  and  the  marshes,  by 
no  more  remarkable  circumstance  than  the  arrival  of  my  birthday, 
and  my  paying  another  visit  to  Miss  Havisham.  I  found  Miss 
Sarah  Pocket  still  on  duty  at  the  gate;  I  found  Miss  Havisham 
just  as  1  had  left  her  ;  and  she  spoke  of  Estella  in  the  very  same 
way.  if  not  in  the  very  same  words.  The  interview  lasted  but  a 
iie  gave  me  a  guinea  when  I  was  going,  and 
told  me  to  come  again  on  my  next  birthday.  I  may  mention  at 
&n«e  tiiatthis  Iwseame  an  annual  custom.     I  tried  to  decline  taking 


(  i  RE  AT  EXPECTATIONS.  101 

the  guinea  on  the  first  occasion,  but  with  no  better  effect  than  caus- 
ing 'her  to  ask  inc.  very  angrily,  if  I   expected   more?     Then 
after  that,  1  took  i  -  • 

So  unchanging  was  the  <luli  otd  house,  the  yellow  light  -in  the 
darkened  room,  the  faded  spectre  in  the  chair  by  sing-taMe 

glass,  thai  I  felt  as  if  the  stopping  of  the  clocks  bad  stopped  Time 
in  tljat  mysterious  place,  and,  while  1  and  everything;  else  outside 
it  grew  older,  it  stood  still.  DayJight  never  entered  the  house  as 
t'o  my  thoughts  and  remembrances  of  it,  any  more  than  as  to  the 
actual  fact.  It  bewildered  me.  and  under  its  influence  I  continued 
at  heart  to  bate  my  trade  and  to  he  a  of  home. 

Imperceptibly  1  became  conscious  of  a  change  in  Biddy,  howev- 
er. Her  shoes  came  up  at  the  feed,  her  hair  grew  bright  afld  neat, 
her  hands  were  always  clean.  She  was  noi  beautiful — she  was 
common,  ami  could  not  he  like»Estella — but  she  was  pleasant  and 
wholesome  and  sweet  -tempered.  She  had  not  been  with  us  more 
than  a  year  (1  remember  her  being  newly  out  of  mourning  at  the 
time  it  struck  me),  when  1  observed  to  myself  one  evening  that, 
she  had  curiously  thoughtful  and  attentive  eyes;  eyes  that  were 
very  pretty  and  very  good. 

It  came  of  my  lilting  up  my  own  eyes  from  a  task  I  was  poring 

at — writing  some  passages  from  a  book,  to  improve  myself  in  two 

ways  at  once  by  a  sort  of  Stratagem — and  seeing  Biddy  observant 

hat  1  was  about.     I  laid  down  my  pen,  ami  Biddy  stopped  in 

her  needlework  without  laying  5*  down. 

"Biddy,"  said  1.  "  how  do  you  manage' it  ?  Either  I  am  very 
Stupid  or  you  are  "very  clever." 

*«  What  is  il  that  I  manage?  '1  don't  know,"' returned  Biddy, 
smiling. 

She  managed  our  whole  domestic  life,  and  wonderfully  too  ;  but 
1  did  not  mean  that,  though  that  made  what  1  did  mean  more  sur- 
prising. 

"How  do  yon  manage,  Biddy,"  said  I.  "  to  learn  everything  that 
1  learn,  and  always  to  keep  up  with  me  ?  "  1  was  beginning  to  be 
Father  vain  of  my  knowledge,  for  1  spent  my  birthday  guineas  on 
it,  and  set  aside  the  greater  part  of  my  pocket-money  for  similar 
investment;  though  I  have  no  doubt  now  that  the  little  1  knew 
was  extremely  dear  at  the  price. 

"  1  might  as  well  ask  you,"  said  Biddy,  "how  you  manage  ?" 
•  •;  because  when  1  come  in  from   the  forge  of  a  night,  any 
one  can  see  me  turning  to  at    it.      But  you  never  turn   to  at  it, 
Biddy." 

"1  suppose  I  must  catch  i — like  a  cough,"  said  Biddy,  quietly  ; 
and  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

Pursuing  my  idea  as  1  leaned  bark  in  my  wooden  chair  and 
looked  at  Biddy  sewing  away  with  her  head  on  one  side,  1  began 
to  think  her  rather  an  extraordinary  girl.    For  I  called  to  my  miud 


102  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

now  that  she  was  equally  accomplished  in  the. terms  of  our  trade, 
and  the  names  of  our  different,  sorts  of  work",  and  our  various  tools. 
In  short,  whatever  I  knew,  Biddy  knew.  Theoretically,  she  was 
already  as  good  a" blacksmith  as  I,  or  better. 

"  You  are  one  of  those,  Biddy,"  said  I,  "  who  make  the  most 
of  every  chance.  You  never  had  a  chance  before  you' came  here, 
and  see  how  improved  you  are  !  " 

.:y  looked  at  me  for  an  instant,  and  went  on  with  her  sew- 
"  1  \vas  your  first  teacher  though  ;  wasn't  T  ?"  said  she,  as 
she,  sewed. 

iddy  !"  I  exclaimed  in  amazement.     "Why,  you  are  rry- 
ing  ! 

.o,  1  am  not,"  said  Biddy,  looking  up  and  laughing.     "  What 
put  that  in  your  head?" 

What  could  have  put  it  in  my  head  but  the  glistening 
tear  as  it  dropped  on  her  work  1      I   sat  silent,  recalling  what  a 
drudge  she   had  been  until  Mr.  Wopsle's  great  aunt  successfully 
overcame  that  bad  habit  of  living,  so  highly  desirable  to  be  got 
rid  of  by  some  people.     I  recalled  the  hopeless  circumstance- 

had  been  surrounded  in  the  miserable  little  shop  and 
able  little  noisy  evening  school,  with  that  miserable  old 
bundle  of  incompetence  always  to  be  dragged  and  shouldered. — 
\- reflected  that  even  In  those  untoward  limes  there  must  have  been 
I  in  Biddy  what  was  now  developed  or  developing  ;  for  in  my 
uneasiness  and  discontent  I  toad  turned  to  her,  as  a  matter  of 
se,  to  help  me.     Biddy  sat  quietly  sewing,  shedding  no  more 
tears,  and  while  I  looked  at  her,  and  thought  about  it  all,  it  oe- . 
I  to  me  that  perhaps  I   had'  not  been  sufficiently  grateful  to 
Biddy.     1  might  faa?e  been  too  reserved^  arid  should  lave  put  roft- 
ized  her  more  (though  I  did  not  use  that  precise  wind  in  my  med- 
itations) with  my  confidence. 

"  Yes,  Biddy,"  I  observed,  when   I   had  done  turning  it  over, 
were  my  first  teacher,  and  that  at  a  time  when  we   I 
thought  of  ever  being  together  like  this,  in  this  kitchen.'' 

h,  poor  thing  !"  replied  Biddy;  and  it  was  like  her  self-  for- 
ilness  to  transfer  the  remark  to  my  sister,  and  to  get  up  and 
be  busv  about  her,  making  her  more  comfortable;  "that's  sadly 
■"* 
"  Well!"  said- 1,  we  must  talk  together  a  little  more,  as  we  used 
to  do.      And  I  must  consult  with  you  a  little  more,  as  I  used 
to  do.     Let  us  have  a  quiet  walk  on  the  marshes  next  Sunday, 
a  long  chat"  < 

sister  was  .never  left  alone  now;  but  Joe  mure  than  readi- 
ly undertook  the  care  of  her  on  that  Sunday  afternoon,  and  Biddy 
and  1  went  out  together.  Jt  was  summer  time  and  lovely  weath- 
er. When  we  had  passed  the  village  and  the  church  and  the 
church-yard,  and  were  out  on  the  marshes,  and  began  to  see  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  103 

sails  of  the  ships  as  they  sailed  on,  I  began  to  combine  Miss  Hav- 
isham  and  Esttolla  with  flic  prospect,  in  my  usual  way.  WWn 
we  came  to  fcfae  river-side  and  sal  duwn  on  the  banki  with  the  wa- 
ter rippling  at  our  feet,  matting  if  all  more,  quiet  thai'  ii  would  have 
been  Without  that  s.mnd,  1  resolved  that  it  was  a  good  time  and 
place  for  the  admission  of  Biddy  into  my  inner*C*onfidenci 

"  Middy,"  said  I.  after  binding  her  to  Secrecy,  '- 1  want  to  be  a 
gent  'entail." 

"  Oh,  I  wnu'dn't,  if  I  was  you  !"  she  returned.  "  I  don't  think 
it  would  answer." 

"Biddy."  said  T,  with  some  severity,  "I  have  particular  rea- 
sons for  wauling  to  be  a  genlleman." 

*"'  Yon  know  best,  Pip;  hut  ddh't  you  think  you  are  happier  as 
you  are  ?" 

'.'  Biddx ."  I  exclaimed',  impatiently,  "I  am  not  at  al  happy  as 
I  am.  I  am  disgusted  wiih  my  ca  ling  and  with  my  life.  1  have 
never  taken  to  either  since  I  was  hound.      Ddh't  he  absurd  !" 

•'  Was  I  absurd  V?  said  Biddy,  quietly  raising  her  eyebrows  ; 
"  I  atii  sorry  for  that;  I  didn't  mean  to  be.  1  only  watit  you  to 
do  well,  and  to  be  comfortable." 

"Well,  then,  understand  once  for  all,  hat  I  never  shall  or  can 
he  comfortable — or  any  thing  but  miserable — there,  Biddy  ! — un- 
less I  can  lead  a  very  different  sort  of  life  from  the  life  I  lead 
now. 

'■  That's  a  pity  !''  said  Biddy,  shaking  her  head  with  a  sorrow- 
ful air. 

Now,  I  too  had  so  often  thought  it  a  pity,  that,  in  the  singular 
kind  of  quarrel  with  myself  which  I  was  always  carrying  on,  1  was 
half  inclined  to  shed-  tears  of  vexation  and  distress  when  Biddy 
gave  utterance  to  her  sentiment  and  my  own.  I  told  her  she  was 
right,  and  1  knew  it  was, much  to  be  regretted,  but  still  it  was  not 
to  be  helped. 

"If  I  could  have  settled  down  ;"  I  said  to  Biddy,  plucking  up 
short  grass  within  reach,  much  as  I  had  once  upon  a  time  pull- 
ed my  feelings  out  of  my  hair  and  kicked  them  into  the  brewery 
wall  :  "if  I  could  have  settled  down  and  been  but  half  as  fond  of 
the  forge  as  I  was  when  I  was  little,  I  know  it  would  have  been 
much  better  for  me.  You  and  I  and  Joe  would  have,  wanted  no- 
then,  and  doe  and  I  would  perhaps  have  gone  partners  when 
I  was  out  of  my  time,  and  I  might  even  have  grown  up  to  keep 
company  with  you.  and  we  might  have  sat*  on  this  very  bank  on  a 
fine  Sunday,  quite  different  pebple.  I  should  haw  been  good 
enough  for  i/o)/  ;   shouldn't  I.  Biddy  I" 

Biddy  sighed  as  she  looked  at  the  ships  sailing  on,  and  returned 
for  answer,  "  Ves  ;  I  am  not  over  particular."  It  scarcely  sound- 
ed flattering,  but  I  knew  she  meant  well. 

"  Instead  of  that,"  said  I,  plucking  up  more  grass  and  chewing 


104  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  .blade  or  two,  "  see  how  T  am  going  on.  Djissatistied  and  un- 
comfortable, and — what  would  it  signify  to  me,  beiu  ■  and 
common,  if  nobody  had  told  me  so!'' 

1  ly   turned  Ober  face  suddenly  toward,  mine,  and    looked  far 
mon  eTy  at  me  than  she  had  looked  at  the  sailing  ships. 

s  neither  a  very  true' nor  a  very  polite  thing  to  say,"  she 
remarked,  directing  her  eyes  to  the  ships  again..    "  Who  said  it?" 

1  was  disconcerted,  for- 1  had  broken  away  without  seeing  wi- 
I  was  going.  It  was  not, to  be  shuffled  off  now,  however,  and  I 
answered,  "  The  'beautiful  you'cg  lady  al  Miss  Ifavisham's,  and 
she's  more  beautiful  than  any  body  ever  was,  and  1  admire  her 
dreadfully,  and  1  want  to  be  a  gentleman  on  her  account."  ,  Hav- 
ing made  which  lunatic  confessed  n  to  thro  m-up 
grass  in  the  river,  as  if  I  had  some  thoughts  oi'folluv 

"Do  you   want  to   be  a  gentleman  to. spite  her  <>:■■  i <-  gain   I 
over?"  Biddy  (juicily  asked  me.  after  a  pause. 

"  ]  don't  know,"  I  moodily  answered. 

•'  Because,  if  it  is  to  spite  her,".  Bide1  should  .think 

— but  you  know  best — that  might  be  better  and  more  independent- 
ly Tlone  by  earing  nothing  for  her  words.  And  if  il  is  to  gain  her 
over,   I    should    think — but    you    i.  it — she   was  not   worth 

gaining." 

Exactly  what  I  myself  had  thought  man;  ,iiat 

was  perfectly  manifest  to  me  at  the  moment.  But  how  could  I,  a 
poor  dazed  village  lad,  avoid  that  wonderful  inconsistency  into 
which  the  best  and  wisest  men  fell  every  day? 

"  It  may  be  all  quite  true,"  said  I  to  Biddy,  "but  1  admire  her 
[fully." 

In  short,  I  turned  over  on  my  face  when  I  came  to  that,  and 
!  grasp  on  the  hair  on  ea<  h  side  of  my  head,  and  wrenched  it 
•  well.     All  the  while  knowing  the  madness  of  my  heart  to  be  so 
very  mad  and  misplaced,' that  I  was  quite  conscious  it  .'would 'have 
served  .  right  if  I  had  lifted  it  up  by  my  hair  and  knocked 

it  against  the  pebbles  as  a  punishment  for  belonging  to  such  an 
idiot. 

Bidi  ;rK  and  she  tried  to  reason  no  more 

with  me.  She  put  her  hand,  which  was  a  comfortable  hand  though 
roughened  by  work,  upon  my  hands," one  after  another,  and  gently 
took  them  out  of  my  hair.  Then  she  softly  patted  my  shoulder  in 
thfng  way,  while  with  my  face  upon  my  sleeve  i  cried  a  lit- 
tle— exactly  as  I  had  done  in  the  brewery  yard — and  felt  vaguely 
convinced  that  I  was  very  much  ill-used  by  somebody,  or  by  every 
body  ;  I  can't  say  which. 

.  •<■  I  am  glad  of  one  thing,"  said  Biddy,  "and  thai  is,  that  you 
have  felt  you  could  give  me  your  confidence,  Pip.  And  1  am  glad 
of  another  thing,  and  that  is,  that  of  course  yod  know  you  may  de- 
pend upon  my  keeping  it  and  always  to  far  deserving  it.     If  your 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  105 

p.r  (dear  !  such  a  poor  one,  and  so  much  in  heed  of  being 
erself!)  had  been  \  i  present    time,  she 

thinks  siic  knows  what  lessen  she  would  set-.'    But    it  would 
hard  one  to  learn,  and  you  have  got  beyortfl  her,  and  it's  of  rj 
."     So,  willi  a  quie  r  me,  Middy  rose  from  the  b 

and   sakl,  wiiii  a  fresh  sant  change  of  vcoicfe,  "  ShaJ 

walk  a  hiile  further,  or  go  home  :'" 

••  i'.i.ii)/',  ;  cried,  jumping  up,  putting  my  arm  round  iier  neck, 
and  giving  her  a  kiss,  "  1  shall  always  led  you  every  thing" 
"  Till  you're  a  irentlcnian."  said   Biddy. 

•■  You' know  I  never  shall  he,  so  rhai's  always.  Xot  that  I  have 
any  .  •  to    tell    yod    any  thing-,  for  yon    know  every  . lii ntr  1 

know — as  I  told  you  at  home  Hie  oilier  night." 

••Ah!"  said   Biddy,  qtrite  in  a  whii  die  looked  awa 

the  ships.     And  then  repeated,  with  her  former  pleasant 
••  Shall  we  walk  a  little  further,  or  go  home  f 

J   s;;i<j  to   Biddy  we  would  walk  a  little  further,  and  we  did 
and  the  summer  afternoon   toned  down  into  .the  summer  evening, 
vcr.y  bea'utjffil.      1  began  to  consider  whether  !  was  not 
more  naturally  and  more  wholesomely  situated,  after  all.  in 
[instances,  than  playing1  beggar  my  neighbor  by  oaridlclig 
the  room  with  the  stopped  clocks,  and  being  despj  . 
I  fhpiight  it  would  he  very  gbed  for  me  if  I  c  it  of 

those  remembrances  and  fancies,  and 
could  go  to  work  determined  to  relish  what  I  had  to  do,  and 
make  the  best  of  it.  1  asked  myself  the  question  wh 
I  did  not  surely  know  that  if  Kstella  were  beside  m  mo- 

ment ftistead  of  iiiddy  she  would   make  me  miserable?     I   was 
.  d  to  admit  that  1  did  know  it  for  a  certaft  aid  to- my- 

self, "  Pip?  what  a  fool  you  a 

■  talked  a  good  deal  as  we  walked,  and  all  that  Biddy  said 

Biddy  was  never  insulting  or  capricious,  of  Biddy 

ay  and  somebody  eke  to  morrow:  she  would  have  derived  only 

pain,  ami  not  pleasure,  from  giving  me  pain;  she  would  far.ra 

have  wounded  her  own  breast    -  nine.     How  could  it  be,  then, 

that  I  did  not  like  her  much  the  b  fhe  two  .' 

iiddy,"  said  I,  when   we  were  walkr  .  ir.d,  "  J 

lould  put  me  right.'; 
'•  1  wish  1  could."  said  Bid dy . 

'•  If  i  could  only  get  myself  to  fall  in  lo  don  t 

mind  my  speaking  so  openly  to  an  old  acquaintance.'" 

"  Oh  dear,  not  at  all  !"  said  l.iddy.     "  Don't  mind  me,'* 
"  If  I  could  get  myse;  that  woiild  be  the  thing  for  i 

"  But  you  never  will.  Idy. 

It  did  not  appeal'  quite  so  unlikely  to  -me  that  evening  as  it 
Would  have  done  if  we  had  disscussed-  it  a. few  hours  before.  1 
therefore  observed  that   [was  not  quite  sure  of -.that.     But    Bi 


106  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

said  she  was,  and  she  said  it  decisively.     In  ray  heart  I  believed 
her  to  be  right ;  and  yet  I  took  it  rather. ill,  too,  that  she  should 
i  positive,  on  the  point. 

When  we  came  near  the  church-yard  we  had  to  cross  an  embank- 
ment, and  get  over  a  stile  near  a  sluice-irate.  There  started  up, 
from  the  gate,  or  from  the  rushes,  or  from  the  ooze  (which  was 
quite  in  his  stagnant  way),  old  Orlick. 

"Holloa!"  he  growled;  "  where  are  you  two  going,?" 

"  Where  should  we  be  going,  but  home ?" 

"  Well!  then,"  said  he,  "  I'm  j  ggered  if  I  don't  see  you  home?" 

This  penalty  of  being  jiggered  was  a  favorite  supposititious  Cjase 
of  his.  He  attached  no  definite  meaning  to  the  word  that  I  am 
aware  of,  but  used  it,  like  his  own  pretended  Christian  name,  to 
affront  mankind,  and  convey  an  idea  of  something  savagely  dam- 
aging. When  I  was  younger,  I  had  a  general  belief  that  if  he  had 
jiggered  me  personally  he  would  have  done  if  with  a  sharp  and 
twisted  hook. 

Biddy  was  much  against  his  going  with  ns,  and  said  to  me  in  a 
whisper,  "  Don  t  let  him  come;  I  don  t  like  him."  .As  I  did  not 
like  him  either,-  1  took  tire  liberty  of  saying  that  we  thanked  him, 
but  didn't  want  seeing  home,  fie  received  that  piece  of  informa- 
tion with  a  yell  of  laughter,  and  dropped  back,  but  came  slouching 
after  us  at  a.  little  distance. 

irious  to  know  whether  Biddy  suspected  him  of  having  had  a 
hand  in  that  murderous  attack. of  which  my  sister  had  never  been 
able  to  give  any  account,  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  like  him  ? 

"Oh!"  she  replied,  glancing  over  her  shoulder  as  he  slouched 
'  after  us,  "  because  I — I  am  afraid  die  likes  me." 

"  Did  he  ever  tell  you  he  liked  you  I"  1  asked,  indignantly. 

"No,"  said  Biddy,  glancing  over  her  shoulder  again,  "he  never 
told  me  so  ;  but  he  dances  at  me  whenever  he  can  catch  my  eye." 

However  novel  and  peculiar  this  testimony  of  attachment,  1  did 
not  doubt  the   accuracy  of  the  interpretation.     I  was  very  hot  iii- 
■  deed  upon  old  Orlick 's  daring  to  admire  her;  as  hot  as  if  it  were 
an  outrage  on  myself. 

'-  But  it  makes  no  difference  to  you,  you  know,*'  said  Biddy, 
calmly. 

"  Iso,  Biddy,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me;  only  I  don't  like  it: 
1  don't  approve  of  it." 

"  Nof  1  either,"  said  Biddy.  "  'Enough  that  makes  no  differ- 
ence tolvou." 

"  Exlbtly,"  said  1  ;  "  but  i  must  tell  you  I  should  have  no 
opinion  of'you,  Biddy,  if  he  danced  at  you  with  your  own  con^ 

I  kept  an  eye  on  Orlick  alter  that  night,  and,  whenever  circum- 
stances were- favorable  to  his  dancing  at  Biddy,  got  before  him  to 
obscure  the  demonstration.  He  had  struck  root  in  Joe's  establish- 
ment by  reason  of  my  sister's  sudden  fancy  for  him,  or  I  should 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  107 

have  Ivied  to  get  him  dismissed.     lie  quite  understood  and  reci- 
procals .niid  intentions,  as  1  had  reason  to  know  thereafter. 

And  now,  heeause  my  mind  was  not  confused  enough  beftire,  1 
complicated  its  confusion  fifty  thousand  fold,  by  hating  states 
seasons   when    1    was  clear   ihat   Kiddy  was  immeasurably  1> 
■than  Estella,  and  that'the  plain  honest,  working  lif-  to  which  I  wa 
born  had  nothing  in  il  to  he  ashamed  of,  but   offered   me  sufficient 
means  of  self-respect  and  happiness.     At  those  limes  I  would  de- 
i  onelusivel\  that  my  disaffeetion  to, dear  old  doe  and  the  forge 
way  gone,  and  that  1  was  growing  up  in  a  fair  way  to  be,  partners 
with  doe  and  to  keep  company  with  Kiddy,  when  all  in  a  moment 
some  conftnmdilig  remembrance  of  the  llavisham   days  would  fall 
upon  me  like  a  destructive  missile  and  scatter  my  wits  again.  ! 
tcted   wits  take  a  long  time  picking  up;   and  often,  before  I  had 
nem  Yudl  together  again,  they  would- be  dispersed  in  all  di- 
rections by  <>ue  stray  thought    that   perhaps  after  all   Miss  llavi- 
sham was  going  to  make  my  fortune  when  my  time  was  out. 

If  my  time  had  run  out,  it  would  have  left  me  still  at  the  h 
of  .my  perplexities,  1  dare  say.     Il  never  did  run  out,  howeve:. 
was  brought  to  a  premature  end,  as  1  proceed  to  relate. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  was  in  the  fourth  year  of  my  apprenticeship  to  Joe,  and  it 
was  a  Saturday  night.     There  was  a  group  assembled  round  the 
lire  ai  the  Three  Jolly  Bargemen,  attentive  to  Mr.  Wopsle  as  he 
he  newspaper  aloud.     Of  thai  group  I  was 

A  highly  popular  murder  had  been  committed,  and  Mr.  Wopsle 
was  imbrued  in  blood  to  the  eyebrows,  lie  gloated  over  every  ab- 
horrent adjectiv  in  the  description,  and  identified  himself  with 
every  witness  at  the  Impiest.  He  faintly  moaned,  "  I  am  done 
at  the  victim,  and  he  barbarously  bellowed,  "I'll  serve  you 
out,"  as- tin-  murderer.  He  gave  the  medical  testimony,  in  pointed 
imitation  of  OUr, local  practitioner;  and  he  piped  and  shook,  as  the 
aged  turnpike-keeper  who  had  heard  blows,  to  an  extent  so 
very  paralytic  as  to  suggest  a  doubt  regarding  tie'  mental  compe- 
tency <»f  that  witness.  The  coroner,  in  Mr.  Wopsle's  bands, 
came  Timon  of  Athens  ;  the  beadle,  ( 'oriolanus.      He  enjoyed  him 


108  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

self  thoroughly  ami  we  all  enjoyed  ourselves,  and  were  delightfully 
comfortable.     In  this  cozy  stale  of  mind  we  came  to  the  vet 
Willful  Murder. 

Then,  and  not  sooner,  I  bee 7me  aware  of  a  strange  gentleman 
leaning  over  the  back  of  the  set  lie  opposite  me,  looking  on. 
There  was  an  expression  of  contempt  on  his  face,  and  he  bit  the 
side  of  a  great  forefinger  as  he  watched  the  group  of  faces.  "  Well !'' 
said  the  stranger  to  Mr.  Wopsle,  when  the  reading  was  done,  " 
have  settled  it  all  to  your  own  satisfaction,  I  have  no  doubt  ?" 

Every  body  started  and  looked  up," as  if  it  were  the  murderer. 
He  looked  at  every  bod}  coldly  and  sarcastically. 

"  Guilty,  of  course?''  said  lie.     "  Out  with  it.     Come-!"' 

".•Sir."    returned    Mr.   Wopsle,  "without    having  the   honor  of. 
your  acquaintance,  I  do  say  Guilty/1     Upon  this  we  all  took  cour- 
age to  unite  in  a  confirmatory  murmur. 

"  1  know  you  do,"  said  the  stranger;  "  I  knew  you  would,  I 
iold  you  so.  But  now  I'll  ask  you  a  question.  Do  you  know,  or 
do  you  not  know,  that  the  law  of  England  supposes  every  man  to 
be  innocent  until  he  is  proved — proved — to  be  guilty  VI 

"  Sir,"  Mr.  Wopsle  began  to  reply,  "as  an  Englishman  myself, 
I_»  , 

"  Come  !  "  said  the  stranger,  biting  bis  forefinger  at  him.  -"  Don't 
evade  the  question.  Either  you  know  it  or  you  don't  know  it. 
Which  is  it  to  be?" 

He  stood  with  his  head  on  one  side,  ap'd  himself  ou  one  side,  in 
a  bullying,  interrogative  manner,  and  he  threw  his  forefinger  at 
Mr.  AVopsle — as  it  were  to  mark  him  out — before  biting  it  again. 

'*  Now  !"  said  be,  '"Do  you  know  it,  or  don't  you  know  it  T' 

"Certainly!  know  it,"  replied  Mr.  Wopsle. 

"  Certainly  you  know  it.     Tnen  why  didn't  you  say  so  at  first  ? 
Now   I'll    ask  you   another  question  ;"    taking  possession  of  Mr. 
Wopsle,  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  him.     "  Do  you  know  that  none  of  ' 
these  witnesses  have  yet  been  cross-examined  ?" 

Mr.  Wopsle  was  beginning,  "  1  can  only  say — "  when  the 
stranger  slopped  him. 

"What?     'You   won't  answer   the  question,  yes  or  no?     Now 
I'll  try  you' again."     Throwing  bis  finger  at  him  again.     "Attend 
to  me.     Are  you  aware,  or  are  you  not  aware,  that  none  of  these 
witnesses  have  yet  been  cross-examined?     Come,  I  only  want  one  , 
word  from  you.     Yes  or  no  ?" 

Mr.  Wopsle  hesitaled,  and  we  all  began  to'  conceive  rather  a 
poor  opinion  of  him. 

"  Come  !"  said  the  stranger;  "  I'll  help  you.  Y"ou  don't  deserve 
help,  but  I'll  help  yon..  Look  at  that  paper  you  hold  in  vour  hand. 
What  is  it?" 

'•  What  is  it  I"  repealed  Mr.  Wopsle,  eyeing  it,  much  at  a  loss. 

"  Is  itv'  pursued  the  stranger  in  his  most  sarcastic  and  suspici- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  109 

mis  manner,  "the  printed  paper  you  have  just  been  reading  from  I" 
"  Undoubtedly." 

'"  Undoubtedly.     No<v  turn  to  that  paper  and  tell  me  whether  ii 

rlctfy  slates  that  the  prisoner  expressly  said  that  his  legal  ad- 

rs  instructed  him  altogether  to  reserve  his  defeiiee  V 

"  I  read  that  just  now,''   31  r.  Wopsle  pleaded.     - 

'•  Never  mind  wliai  you  readjust  now,  Sir:   I  don't  ask  you  what. 

yon  read.     ^  <>u  may  read  the  Lord's  Prayer  backward,  ii'  yon  like 

— and.  perhaps,  haw  done  ii    before  to-day:     Turn   to  the  paper. 

No.  .  friend  ;  not  to  the  top  6T  the  column  ;    you-  know 

better  than  that :   to  the  bottom,  to  the   bottom."     (We  all 'began 

ink  Mr.  Wopsle  lull  of  subterfuge.)     Well  I     Have  you  to 
ii  .'" 

••  Here  ii  is,"  said    Mr.  'Wopsle. 

Rssage  with  your  ej  ii  me  whether 

unctly  slates  that  the  prisoner  expressly  said  that  he  was  iu- 
sirucled    by   ins   lega*]    advisers    wholly  to   reserve  his  defence  ! 
lo  yoM  make  tbat  of  it '.'" 
Mr.  Wopsle  answered,  "  Those  are  not  the  e.xaei  words." 
"  Xoi  the  exact  words !  "  repeated  the  gentleman,  bitterly. 
that  tin-  exact  substanc 
i  es,"  said  Mr.  Wopsle> 
""Yes  !  "  repeated  the      "anger,  looking  round  at  the  rest  of  the 
company,  with  his  right  hand  extended  toward  the  witness,  V 
sic  "And  no\  what  you  say  to  the  conscience  of  that  man 

who,  with  thai  before. his  eyes,  can  lay  his  head  upon  his 

pillow  after  having  pronounced  a  fellow-creature  guilty  unnea 

We  all  began  to  Suspect  that  Mr.  Wopsle  was  not  .the  man  we 
had  thought  him,  and  that  he  was  beginning  to  be  found  oui. 
■    \ud  that  same  man,  remember," pursued.the gentleman, throw 
;it  Mr.  Wopsle  heavily  ;   "that  same  man   might  1)0 
■1  as  a  juryman    upon  tins   very  trial,  and,  having  thus 
himself,  mighl   return  to  the  bosom  of  his 
ily  and  lay  his  head  upon  his  piHow,  after  deliberately  swearing 
that   he  would' well  and  truly   try   th  lined  betw< 

n  Lord  the  King  and  the  pri  i  od  would 

•  according  to  the  evidence,  s"  help  him  God  !  " 
W(  Mod  that  i  ■  mate  Wppsle  had 

stop  iii  hi  ''T  while 

.villi  an   air  of  authnrity  not  to  he  dis- 
puted, am 

iy  do  for  each  indjvidu- 
nle,  and  came 

i  .   his  left  hand  i  and  he  biting 

Uit*  Gmtisger  of  his  righk 


110  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

'"From  information  I  have  received,"  said  lie  looking  round  at 
us  as  we  all  quailed  before  him,  "  I  have  reason  to  believe  there  is 
a  blacksmith  among  you,  by  name  Joseph — or  Joe — (uirgery. — 
Which  is  the  man  '(  " 

"  ilere  is  the  man."  said  Joe. 

The  strange  gentleman  beckoned  him  our  of  his  place,  and  Joe 

"Ypuhrive   an  apprentice,"  pursued,  the  stranger,  "eommonly 

wn  as  i'ip  ?     Is  he  here  ?  " 
••  1  am  here,"  I  cried. 

ng$r  did  n'pl  recognize  me,  but  1  recugnized  him  as  the 

gentleman  1  had  met  on  the  stairs  on  the  occasion  of  my  second 

visit,  to  Miss   HaVJsham.      His  appearance  was  too  remarkable  for 

me  in  liave  forgotten.     1    had  known  him   the  moment   1   saw  him 

looking  over   the  settle,   and  now    that,    I   stood   confronting   him 

his   haul   upon   my  shoulder,   1    cheeked   off  again   in   detail, 

his  large  he, id,  his  dark   complexion,  his  deep-set   eyes,   his  bushy 

black  eye-brows,  his  large  watch  chain,-. his  strong  black  dots  of 

beard  and   whisker,  and  even   the  smell  of  scented   soap  on  his 

t  head. 

wish  to  have  a  private  conference  with   you   two,"  said  he, 

when  he  had  surveyed  meat   his  leisure.     "  it  will  take  a  little 

Perhaps  we  had  heuer  go  to  your  place  of  residence.     1 

[refer  not  lo  anticipate  my  communication-  here  ;  you  will'  impart 

as  much  pr  as  little  of  it  as  you  please  lo  your  friends  afterward; 

;  haVe  nothing  to  do  with  that!'' 

Amidst  a  wondering  silence  we  three  walked  I   tlie  Jolly 

Bargemen,  and  in  a  wandering  silence  walked  home.     While  g( -' 
along,  the  strange  gentleman  occasionally  looked  at  me,  and 
'-ionally  bit  the  side  of  his  finger.     As  we  near  d  home,  doc 
ely   acknowledging   the  occasion   as  an  impressive  and  cere- 
monious one.  went  on  ahead  to  open  the  front  door.     Our  confer- 
ence was  held  in  the  state  parlor,  which  was  feebly  lighted  by  one 
candle. 

It  began  with  the  strange  gentleman's  silting  down  at  the  table, 
drawing  the  candle  to  him,  and  looking  over  some  entries  in  his 
p  ickei-book.  He  then  put  up  the  pocket-book,  and  set  the  candle 
a  little  aside  :  after"  peering  round  it  into  the  darkness  at  Joe  and 
me,  to  ascertain  which  was  which, 

"  3.1  y  name,"  he  said,  il  is  Jaggcrs,  and  I  am  a  lawyer  in  Lon- 
don. I  am  pretty  well  known.  1  have  unusual  business  to  trans- 
act with  you,  and  I  commence  by  explaining  that  it  is  not  of  my 
originating.  If  my  advice  had  been  asked,  I  should  not  have 
le.n  here.  It  was  nor  asked,  and  you  see  me  here.  What  i  have 
io  do,  as  the  confidential  agent  of  another,  I  do.  No  less,  no 
m  re.''  , 

lauding  thai  ha  could  not  see  us  verj  well  from,  where  he  sat» 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  *    11] 

it  up,  and  threw  one  r  the  back  of  a  chair  and  leaned 

upon  it;  thus  having  one  fool  on  the  seat  ofthe,  chair,  and  one  foot 

on  the  ground. 

",  aiiw,  .Joseph  Gargery,  I  am  the  bearer.of  an  offer  to  relieVe 

f  this  young  fellow,  your  apprentice,     you, would  notfobjeel 
to  cancel  his  indentures,  at   his  request,  and  tor  his  go*od  .' 
would  not  want.  au\  ihittg  for  so  doing  !  " 

,ord  i'orliid  that   i  should  w.attt  anything  for  hot- -standing  in 
Pip's  way  !"  said  Job)  staring. 

ml  forbidding  is  pious,  but  not  to  the  purpose."  retur 

■rs.     "The  question  is,  would  you  want  anything  I'    Do  yoii 

anything /" 

londy.  " 

1  ii  I    .red  al  doc  as  if  he  considered  him 

a  fool  l'or  his  disinterestedness.  But  1  was  ioo  much  bewildered 
between  bre'athle  s  curiosity  and  surp  <■  sure  of  it. 

Cry  well."  said  Mr.  .luggers.     M  RecoMeci  the  admission 
al  don't  try  to  git  from  it  presently!" 
"  Who's  a  going  to  try  I "  reported  Joe. 
•■  i  don't  say  anybody  is.     Do  you  keep  a'  dog?" 
•  ■•  Yes.  1  do  keep  a  dog." 

(ear  in  mind,  theft,  thai  Brag  is  a  good  dog.  but  TluldfVt  is 
abetter.  Bear  that,  in  mind,  will  yoYi  ?"' repeated  Mk'Jaggers, 
ing  his  eyes  and  -nodding  his  head  at  doc,  as  if  be  were  tpr- 
giving  him  something.  "Now,  i  ret  urn  to  this  young  fellow.  And 
the  communication  1  have  to  mala'  is,  that  he  has  great  ex; 
toons,  i 

;  ed,  and  looked  .at   one  another. 
"1  'am   Instructed  U>- communicate  to  him,"  'said  Mr.  daggers, 
throwing  his   lingers  at    me  sideways.  "  that  he  will  come  into  a 
•on.e  properly.     Further,  that    it.  is  the  desire  of  the  pn 
.•  -<or  of  that  property  that   he  he  immediately  removed  from 
h'.s  present  .sphere  of  life  and.  front   this  place,  and   be   I 

tleman — in  a  word,  as  a  fellow  of  great  expeeta- 

dream  was  ouj  ;  my  wild  fancy  was  surpassed  by  sober  re- 
ality ;  Miss  iiavisham  was  going  to  make  ;ny  fortune  on  a  grand 

":  .    Pip,"  pursued'  t lie  lawyer,"]   address  the  rest   of 

what  I  haw  to  say  io  you.  Vo;-,  are  fa  understand  first,  that  it 
is  the  request  of  the  person  from  whom  1  take  my  instructions, 
that  you  always  bear  the  name -of  Pip.'  foil  will  have  no  objec- 
tion, I  dare  sa;  &  being  encumbered  with 

■  any   objection,  this  is  the 
time  • 

heart  was  heating  so  fast,  and  there  was  such  a  singing  in 
my  tars,  that  1  could  scarcely  sLauiuuir  that  i  had  uo  objection. 


112  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  I  should  think,  not!  "iSow  you  are  to  understand,  secondly, 
Mr.  Pip.  that"  the  name  of  the  person  who  is  your  liberal  benefac- 
tor remains  a  profound  secret  unlil  rite  person  chooser  to  reveal 
it.  1  am  empowered  to  mention  that  it  is  the  intention  of  the 
wi  to  reveal  it  at  first,  hand  by  word  of  mouth  to  yourself. 
len  that -intention  may  be"  carried  out  I  cannot  say;  no  one 
call  say.  It  may  be  years  hence;  even  many  years.  Now.  you  are 
distinctly  to  understand  tjtat  you  are  most  positively  prohibited 
from  making  any  inquiry  on  this  bead,  or  any  allusion  Or  refer- 
ence,.however  distant,  to  any  individtiarwhomsoever  as  ihc,  indi- 

:  all  the  communication  you  may  have  with  tqe.  \i 
nave  a  suspicion  in  your  breast  keep  that  suspicion  in  your  own  breast. 
it  is  not  the  least  to  the  purpose  what  the  reasons  of  this  pro- 
hibition are;  t here  may  be  the  strongest  and  gravest  reasons,  or 
they  may  be  there  whim.  That  is  not  lor  you  to  impure  into. — 
Tim  condition  is  laid  down.  Your  acceptance  of  it,  arid  your  ob- 
servance of  it  as  binding,  is  tire  only  remaining  condition  that  J 
am  charged  with,  by  the  person  i'com  whom  I  take  my  msirnc- 
tions,  and  for  whom  I  am  not  otherwise  responsible.  That  per- 
son is  the  person  front  whom  you  derive  your  expectations,  and 
the  secret  is  solely  held  by  that  person,  and  by  me.  Again,  not,  a. 
very  difficult  condition  with  wlflch  to  encumber  such  a  rise  in  for- 
tune;  but  if  you  have  any  objection  to  it,  this  is  the  time  to  men- 
tion if.     Speak  out." 

Once  more  I  stammered  with  difficulty  that  I  had  ha  objection, 
"  I  should  think  not  i     Now/Mr.  Pip,  I  have  done  with  stipula- 
tions."    Though  he  called  me  Mr.  Pip.  and  began  rather  to  make 
up  to  me,  he  still  could  not  get  -rid  of  a  certain  air  of  bullying  sus- 
picion ;  and  even  now'he  occasionally  she*  his  v  .his 

r  at  me  while  he  spoke,  as  muck'  as  to  express 
all  kinds  of  things*  to  my  disparagement,'  if  he  only  chose  to  m'en- 
them.  .  "  We  eom.e  next 'to  mere  details  of  arrangement!    You 
.must  know  that,   although    I  have'  used   the  tenu    -"expectations', 
more  than  once,  you  are  'not.  endowed  with  expectations 'only. 
There  is  already  lodged  in  my  hands  a  sum  of  money  amply  suffi- 
cient for  your  sub a :  il  ion  and  maintenance.   You  will  please 
icier  me  your  guardian.     Oh!"  for  1  was  going  to  thank  him, 
-•  1  tell  you  at  once  I  am  paid  for  my  services,  or  I  shouldn't?  ren- 
der them.     It 'is  considered  that  you  must  be  better  educated  in 
accordance  with  your  altered  position,  and  that  you  will  be  alive 
to  the  importance  and  necessity  of  at  once  entering,  on  that  advan- 
tage." 

I  said  I  had  always  longed  for  it. 
•     "Never  mind  what  you  have  always  longed  for,  Mr.  Pip,"  he 
retorted;  u  keep   to  the  record.     If  you  long  for  it  now,  that's 
enough.      Am  I  answered  that  you  are  ready  to  be.  placed  at  once 
under  some  proper  tutor  1    Is  that  it  V 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  •        .  113 

I  stammered)  yes.  that  was  it. 

irGood.,  Xiiw  your  inclinations  are  to  be  cpnsulted.  I  don't 
think  thai  wise!  mind,  but  it's  my  trust.  Have  you  over  heard  of 
any  tutor  whom  you  would  prefer  to  another  '." 

1  had  never  heard  of  any  tutor  but  Biddy. and  Mr.  Wopsle's 
great-aunt  ;  so  I  replied  in' the  negative. 

"There»is  a  certain  tutor,  of  whom  I  have  sonfe  knowledge;  who 
1  think  might  suit  the  purposed"  said  Mjr.  daggers.  "  I  don't  re- 
commend him.  observe;  because  I  never  recommend  any  body*. 
The  gentleman*  I  speak  of  is  one  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket/' 

Ah  !     I  caught  at  the  name  directly.     Miss  Ilavishani's  relation. 
The  Matthew  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Camilla  had  spoken  of     'The, 
se  place  was  to  be  at   Miss  Ilavishani's  head  when   . 
I  y  dead  in  her  bride's  dress  on  the  bride's  table. 
"  You  know  the  name  .'"  said   Mr.  Jaggers,  looking  shrewdly  at 
and  then  shutting  up  his  eyes  while  he  waited  for  my  answer. 
answer.was,  that  1  had  heard  of  the*n'ame.< 
"  Oh  !"  said  he     "  Vou  liave  heard  of  the  name.     But  the  ques- 
tion is.  what  do  you  say  of  i 

1  said,  or  tried  to  say,  that  I  was  much  obliged  to  him  for 
rccouimemLtion'-'- 

"  No,  my  young-  friend  !"  he  interrupted,  shaking  his  great  head 
very  slowly.     "Recollect  yourself!" 

Not  recollecting  myself,  1  began  agpin  that  I  was  much  oblig 
io  hinr  for  his- recommendation — 

"  No,  my  young  friend,-'  he  in:  shaking  bis   head   and 

frowning  and  smiling  both   at  once;    "  no,  no,  no ;    it's  very  ' 
done, -but  it  won't  do?  you.  arc  too  young  to  fix  me  with  it. 
iiendati  ui  is  not  (h<    v  ml.  Mr.  Pip.     Try  another." 
orreoting  myself,  1  said  that  I   was  much  obliged  \<>  bim  for 
his  mention  of  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  — 
'.'  T.  cried  Mr.  .Jag 

nd  (I  added)  !  illy  try  that  gentleman. 

"Good.     You  had  better  try  him  in  his  own  house     > 
shall.be  prepared  foryoufand  you  can  see  bis  son  first,  who  is  in 
London.     When  will  you  come  !■>  Lou.! 

;  .Joe,  who  stood   looking  on  010  'hat 

i  !  could  come  dire 

.;!  should  have  Bonn  i 

io  come    in,  and    they  should   not    be    working    clothes.     Say  this 
day  week.      1'ou'll  want  Shall   1    leave  you  t  v. 

guine. 

Be  .  with  the  e  id  count-  • 

ed  them  out  on  the  to  me.     This 

ime  he  had  taken  his  leg  from  the  chair.       He  sat  astride 
ir  when  he  had  pusLed  the  i        ..  .   .  winging 

his  pursu  and  eyeing  Joi 


114  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Well,  Joseph  Gargery  !     Yon  look  dumb-foundered  ?" 

"I  am  .'"  .said  Joe,  in  a  very  decided  manner. 

"It  was  understood  that  you  wanted  nothing  for  yourself,  re- 
member ?V 

"  It  were  understood/"  said  Joe  arc  understood.   .And 

it  ever  will  be  similar  according." 

"But  what,"  i&id  Mr.  Jaggers,  swinging  his  purse*  "what  if 'it 
was  in  my  instructions' to  make  you  a  present,  as  compensation. " 
'  "  As  compensation  what  for  ?"  Joe  demanded. 

"  For  the  loss  of  his  services.-' 

Joe  laid  his  hand  upon- my  shoulder  with  1  ho  touch  of. a  woman. 
I  have  often  thought  4iim  since  like  the  ste"an\-hamnier,tha1  can  crush. 
a  man  or  pat  an  egg-shell,  in  his  combination  of  strength  w it h  g 
lioness.     "Pip  is   that  hearty   welcome,"  said   Joe,  "to  gO'*fVi 
with  his  services  to  honor  and  fortun',  as  no  words  can  tell  him. 
Bui  if  you  think  as  Money  can  make  compensation  to  me  for  the 
loss  of  the  little  child — .what  .come  to  the  forge — and  ever  the  best 
of  friends!"     Q  dear,  good  Joe,  whom  I  was  so  ready  to  leave,  and 
so  unthankful  to,  1  see  you  ag  .in,  with  yoiir  muscular  blacksmith's 
arm  before  your  eyes,  and  \  our  bread  chest  heaving,  and  your  voice 
dying  away.     0  dear  good  faithful  tender  Joe,  1  feel  the  loving 
tremble  of  your  hand  upon  my  arm  as  solemnly  this  day  as 
had  been  the  rustle  of  an  angel's  wing! 

But  I  encouraged  Joe  at  the  time.  I  was  lost  in  the  mazes  of 
my  future  fortunes,  and  could  not  retrace  the  by-paths  we  had  trod- 
den together.  I  begged  Joe  to  be  comforted,  tor  (as  he  said)  we 
had  ever  been  the  best  of  friends,  and  (as  1  said)  we  ever  would  be 
so.-  Joe  scooped  his  eyes  with  his  disengaged  wrist,  as  if  he  were 
bent  (.n  gouging  himself,  bur  said  not  another  word. 

Mr.  Jaggers  had  looked  on  at  this  as  bne  who  recognized  in 
Joe  the  village  idiot,  and  in  me  his  keeper. .  When  it  was  over,  he 
said,  weighing  in  his  hand  the  purse  he  had  ceased  tt)  swing, 

"  Now,  Joseph  Gargery,  i   warn   you  this   is  your  last  chance. 
neasu'res  with  me.     If  you  mean  to  take  a  present  that  I 
it  in  charge  to  make  you,  speaK  out,  and  you  shall   have  it. 
If.  on  the  contrary,  you  mean  to  say — "  Here,  to  his  great  amaze- 
ment, he  was  stopped  by  Joe's  suddenly  working  round  him  with 
every  demonstration  of  a  fell  pugilistic  purpose. 

"Which!  me.iniersay."  cried  Joe,  "that  if  you  come  into  my 
place  bull-baiting  and  badgering  me,  come  out  !     Which  1  mean-: 
tersay  as  such  if  you're  a  man,  come  on !     Which  1  meantersay 
what  I  say  I  meantersay,  and  stand  or  fall  by  !" 

i  drew  Joe  away,  and  he  immediately  became  placable;   merely 

slating  to  me,  in  an  obliging  manner,  and  as  a  polite  expostulatory 

hum  it  might  concern,  that  be  were  not  -..going 

to  be  bull-baited  and  badgered  in  his  o\\  'had. 

risen  wh«u  Joe  demonstrated,  and  had  backed  to  near  me  door. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  115 

Without  evincing  any  inclination  to  come  in  again,  he  there  deliv- 
ered his  valedictory  remarks.    They  were  these: 

"  Well,  Mb.  Pip,  I  think  the  sooner  you  leave,  here— as  you  are 
to  be  a  gciit.t-inan — the  better.  Let  it  stand  for  this  day  week,  and 
you  shall  receive  my  printed  address  in  the  mean  time.  You  can 
take  a  liackivy-conch  at  the  stage-coach  office  in  London,  and  i 
straight  to  me.  Understand  thai  I  express  no  opinion,  one  way  or 
other,  on  the  trust  1  undertake.  I  am  paid. for  undertaking  it,  'llld 
1  (to  so.     Now,  understand  that,  finally.     Understand  th 

lie   was   tarowing  his  finger  at   both    of  us,  and  I  think  would 
have  gone  on.  but  for  his  seeming  to  think  Joe.dangertfus 
in;:  i 

nefhing  came  into  my  head  which  induced  me  io  run  after 
him,,  as  he  was  going  down  to  the  .lolly  Bargemen  where  he  had 
left  a  hired  carriage. 

••  1  beg  year  pardon.  Mr.  Jagge 

"Halloa!"  said' he.  facing  round.  "  what's ;  the  matter !" 

••  I  wish  to  be  quite  right,  Mr.  Jaggers,  and  to  keep  to  your  di- 
rections; so  I  thought  I  had  belter  ask.     Would  there  be  any  ob- 
jection io  til}  taking  leave  of  any  one  I   know  about  here  before   I 

i  away  .'" 

••  No,"  said  he.  looking  as  if  he  hardly  understood  me. 

••  I  don'i  mean  in  .the- village'only.  but  up  town." 

••  Xo."  said  he.     "  N  j  >n. 

I  thanked  him  and  ran  home  again,  and  there  I  found  tnat  Joe 
had  already  locked  ilic  froi  and.' vacated  .the  state-parlor, 

and  was  ;i  lire  with  a  hand  on  each  knee,  gazing 

intently  at  the  burning  coals.     1   Too  sat  down  before  the  fire  and 

vd  at  (be  coals,  and  nothing  was  said  for  a  long  time. 

My  sister  was  in   her  cushioned  chair  in  her  corner,  and  Biddy 

at    her    needle-work    before  'the   fire,  and  Joe  sat  next  Biddy, 

and   1  sat  next  Joe  in  the  corner  opposite  my  sister.     The  more 

1  looked  into  the  glowing  coaft  the  more  incapable.  I  became  of 

ring  at  Joe  •  *the  longer  the  srfence  lasted  the  more  unable  i 

felt 

At  length    I  got  out,  "Joe,  have  you  told  Biddy  1  " 

ip,"  returned  doe,  still  looking  at  the  fire,  and  holding 
Ids  knees  light,  as  if  he  had  private  information  that  they  intend- 
ed to  m  .mewhere,  "  which  I  left  it  to  yourself,  Tip." 

"  1  would  rather  you  told,  Joe." 

"  Pip's  a  gentleman  of  foitun',  then,"  said  Joe,  "  and  God  bless 
him  in  it !  " 

Biddy  dropped  her  work  and  looked  at  me.    Joe  held  his  knees 
and  looked  at,  me.      I   looked  at  both  of  them.     After  a  pause 
they    both    heartily   congratulated  me;  but   there    was  a  certain 
■touch  of  sadness  in  their  congratulations  that  I  rather  r  s- 

I  took  it  upon  myself  U  impress  Biddy  (and  through  Biddy, 


116  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Joe)  with  the  grave  obligation  I  considered  my  friends  under,  to 
know  nothing  and  say  nothing  about  the  maker  of  my  fortune.  It 
would  all  come  out  in  good  time,  I  observed,  aiuTjn  'the  mean- 
while nothing  was  to.be  said- save  that  .1  had  come  into  great 
expectations  from  a  mysterious  patrbh.  Biddy  nodded  her  head 
thoughtfully  at  the  lire  as'  she  took  up  her  work  again,  and  said 
she  would  be  very  particular  ;  and  J.oev  still  detaining  is  knees, 
said,  "Ay,  ay,  I'll  bei  ekervally  partickler, .Pip  ;  "  and  then  they 
congratulated  me  again,  and  went  on  to  ex  ("tress  so  much  ponder 
at  the  notion  of  my  being  a  gentleman  that      didn't  half  like  it. 

Infinite  pains  were  then  taken  by  Biddy  to  Convey  to'. my  sister 
some  idea  If  wliat  had  happened.  'I\>  the  best. of  my  'belief  those 
effort's  entirely  failed.  She  laughed  and  noded  her  head  a  great  . 
many  limes,  and  even,  repeated* after  Biddy  the  words  '•  P[p  •  and 
"Property."  But  I  doubt  if  they  had  more  meaning  in  them  than 
an  election  cry,  and  !  cannot  'suggest  a  darker  picture  of  her  state 
of  mind. 

1   never  could   have  believed  it  without  experience  but  as  Joe 
and  Biddy  became   more   at  their   cheerful   ease  again    i    became 
quite  gloomy.     Dissatisfied  with  my  fortune  of  course   i    oulu  not. 
be;   but  it  is  possible  that  I  may  have  been,  without  quilt*  knowing 
it,  dissatisfied  with  myself. 

Anyhow,  1  sat  with  my  elbow  on  my  knew  and  my  face  upon 
m\  band,  looking  into  the- tire,  as  those  two  talked  about  my  go- 
ing, away,  and  about  what  they  should  do  with  me,  and  all  li 
And  whenever  I  caught  one  of  them  looking  at  me,  though  >!;' 
so  pleasantly  (and  they  often  looked  at  me-^particularly  Biddy),! 
fell  in  a  manner  offeude  :  as  if  they  were  expressing  seme  mis- 
trust of  me.     Though  Heaven   knows  they  never  did    by  word  on 

Sl  "11 

At  those  times  I  would  get  up  and  look  out  at  the  door  ;  for 
our  kitchen  door  opened  at  once  upon  the  night,  and  stood  open 
on  summer  evenings  to  air  the  room.  The  very  stars  to  which  I 
then  raised  my  eyes,  I  am  afraitl  i  took  to  be  but  poor  and  hum- 
ble stars  for  glittering  on  the  rustic  objects  among  which  i  had 
passed   my  life. 

"Saturday  night,"  said  I,  when  we  sat  at  our. supper  of  bread 
and  cheese  and  beer,  "five  more  days,  and  then  the  day  before 
the  day  !     They'll  soon  go." 

"  Yes,  Pip,"  observed  Joe,  whose  voice  sounded  hollow  in  his 
beer  mug.     "They'll  soon  go."  . 

"  Soon,  soon  go,"  said  Biddy. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Joe.  that  when  I  go  down  town  on  Mon- 
day,  and  order  my  new  clothes,  I  shall  tell  the  tailor  that  I'll 
come  and  put  tkem  on  there,  or  that  I'll 'have  them  sent  to  Mr. 
Puuibiechook  s.     It  would  be  very  disagreeable  to  be  stared  at  by  ' 
all  th«  $6HJtp)<*  hero." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  J 17 

ill',  and  TNTi-s.  Hubble  might  like  to  see.  you  in  your  new  fig- 
ure "  --aii!  Jotv  industriously  cutting  his  bread;. Villi  his 
cliec-'e'on  it,  in  thy  unci  glancing  al  my  un- 
tastod  supper  as  if  he  thought  of  the  rime  w.liynvwfi  used  to  com- 
pare slices.  "  So  niigh'i  Wopsle.  And  the  Jolly  Bargemen  rilight 
lake  if  as  a  compliment.*' 

"Thai's  just  what  1   don't  want,  Joe.     They  would  make  - 
a  business  of  il — such    a   coarse   and   Common    business — thai    1 
eouldn'l  bear  myself." 

Ah.  that  indeed.  Pip  ! '"  said  doe.  "  If  you  couldn't  ahear 
yourself — " 

Biddy  asked  me  here,  as  she  sat  holding  my  sister's  plate, 
"  Have  you  thought  about  when  you  11  show  yourself  to  Mr.  Gar- 
gejy,  and  your  sister,  and  me  !  You  will  show  yourself  to  us, 
won"l  you  .' "' 

•■  Biddy."  I  refurned.  with  SQine  resentment,  "  you  are  so  ex- 
ceedingly  quick  that    it's  difficult    to   keep   up  with  you." 

("  She  always  were  quick,'1''  observed  Joe.) 

"If  you  Had  waited  another  m'oment, iBiddy,  you  would  have 
heard  me  say  that  1  shall  bring  my  clothes  here  in  a  bundle  one 
evening — most  likely  on  the  evening  before  I  go  away." 

Biddy  said  no  more.  Handsomely  forgiving  her,  i  soon  exchang- 
ed an  affectionate"  good  night  with  her  and  Joe,  and  went  up  to 
lied.  When  I  gol  into  my  little  i'bora  I  sat  down  and  took  a  long 
look  .at  il  as  a  mean  little  room  t  hat  1  should  soon  he  parted  from 
aud  raised  above  forever.  It  was  •furnished  with  fresh  young  re- 
membrances too,  and  even  at  the  same  moment  I  fell  into  much 
the  same  coiifused'uivisioii  of  mind  between  it  and  the  better  rooms 
to  which  I  was.  going,  as  I  had  been  in  so  often  between  the 
and  Miss  llavishanfs,  and  Biddy  and  Estella. 

The  sun  had  been  shining  brightly  all  day  on  the  roof  of  my 
attic,  and  the  room  was  warm.  As  I  put  the  window  opeirV\nd 
stood  looking  out,  I  saw  doe  come -slowly  forth  at  the  dark  door 
below,  ami  take  a  turn  or  two  in  the  air;  and  then  I  aw 
Biddy  come  and  bring  him  a  pipe  and  light  it  for  him.  He  nev- 
er smoked  so  late,  and  it  seemed  to  hint  to  me  that  he  wanted 
comforting,  for  some  reason  or  other." 

He  presently  stood  at  the  door  immediately  beneath  me,  smok- 
ing his  pipe,  and  Biddy  stood  there  too,  quietly  talking  to  him, 
aud  1  knew  that  they  talked  of  me.  for  I  heard  my  name  men- 
tioned in  a  loving  tone  by  both  of  them  more  than  once.  1 
would  not  have  listened  for  more,  if  I  could  have  heard  more  ; 
so  I  drew  away  from  the  window  and  s;i  down  in  my  one  chair 
by  the  bedside,  feeling  it  very  sorrowful  and  strange  that  this 
first,  night  of  my  bright  fortunes  should  be  the  loneliest  I  had  ever 
known. 

Looking  toward   the  window,  I   saw   light  wreaths  from  Joe's 


118  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

pipe  floating  there,  and  I  fancied  that  it  wa?  like  a  Messing  fnom 
jo,. —  not  obtruded  on  me  or  paraded  before  me,  but  pervading  the 
e  s,ha'red together.  I  put  my  light  out  and  crept  into  lied; 
and  it  was  an  uneasy  bed  now,  and  I  never 'slept  the  old  sound 
sleep  m  it  any  more. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Morxiag  made  a  considerable  difference  in  my  general  jfrospect 
of  Life,  and  brightened  it  so  much  fhat.it  scarcely  seemed  .the  same. 
What  lay  heaviest  on  my  mind  was  the  consideration  that  .six 
'days  intervened  between  me  and  the  day  of-  departure:  for  I. 
could  riot  divest  myself  of  a  misgiving  that  something  might  Rap- 
pen  to  London  in  the  meanwhile,  and  that,  when  1  .got  there,  it 
id  be  greatly  deteriorated  or  clean  gone. 

Joe  and  Biddy  were  very  sympathetic  and  pleasant  when  T 
spoke  of  our  approaching  separation  ;  but  they  only  referred  ,to  it 
when  1.  did.  After  breakfast  Joe  brought  out  my  indentures  from 
tbejiressin  the  best  parlor,  and  we  put  them  in  the  fire,  and  1 
felt  that  1  was  free.  With  all  the  novelty  of  my  emancipation  on 
me,  I  went  to  church  with  Joe,  and  thought  perhaps 'The  clergy- 
man wouldn't  have  read  that  about  the  rich  man  and  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  if  he  had  known  all. 

iWer  an  early  dinner  I- strolled  out  alone;  purposing  to  finish  off 
the  marshes  at  once,  and  get  them  done  with.  As  I  passed  the 
church,  I  felt  (as  I  had  felt  during  service  in  the  morning)'  a  sub- 
•■Knmassion  for  the  poor  creatures  who  were  destined  to  go 
there,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  all  their  lives  through,  and  to  lie  ob- 
scurely at  last  among  the  low  green  mounds.  I  promised  myself 
that  I  "would  do  something  for  them  one  of  these  days,  and  formed 
a  plan  in  outline  for  bestowing  a  dinner  of  roast  beef  and  pi  una - 
pudding,  a  pint  of  ale,  and  a  gallon  of  condescension,  upon  every 
body  in   the  village. 

If  I  had  often  thought  before,  with  something  allied  to  shame, 
of  my  companionship  with  the  fugitive  whom  1  had  once  seen 
limping  among  those  graves,  what  were  my  thoughts  on  this  Sun- 
day, when  the  place  recalled  the  wretch,  ragged  and  shivering, 
with  his  felon  iron  and  badge.!  My  comfort  was  that  it  happened 
a  loug  time  ago,  and  that  he  had  doubtless  been  transported  a  long 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  119 

way  (Jff,  and  that  he  was  dead  to  me.  and  might  ably  dead 

into  the  hargaihj. 

>.'o  more  low,  we!  grounfls,  no  more  dykes  and  sluices,  no  more 
of  these  grazing  cattle — though  they  seemed,  in  their  dull  manner, 
to  wear  a  more  respectful  air  now,  and  to  fare  round,  in  order  that 
they  might  stare  as  long  as  possible  at  the  possessor  of  such  great 
expectations — farewell,  monotonous  acquaintances  of  my  childhood, 
henceforth  1  was  for  London  and  greatness:  not  for  smith's  work 
in  general  and  for  you  !  I  made  my  exultant  way  to  the  old  bat- 
tery, and,  lying  down  there  to  consider  the  question  whether  Miss 
Uavishani  intended    me.  for  Lstella.  fell   asleep. 

When  I  awoke  1  was  much  surprised  to  lind  Joe  sfftirig  beside 
me  smoking  his  pipe.  He  greeted  me  with  a  cheerful  smile  on  my 
opening  my  eyes,  and  said  : 

,?  As  being  the  last  time.  Pip,  1  ihought  I'd. toller." 

"  And,  Joe,  1  am  very  glad  you  did  - 

"Thankee,  Pip,"  said   doe.   ' 

•'  You  may  be  sure,  dear  doe."  1  went  on,  after  we  had  shaken 
hands,  ••  that  1  shall  never  forget  you." 

"  No,  no.  Lip  !  'said  doe,  in  a  comfortable  tone,  '■/'/;/  .sure  of 
that.  Ay,-  ay.'ol  1  cha  !  I'd  ess  you,  ii  were  only  necessary  to  get 
ii  well  round  in  a  man's  mind  to  be  certain  on  it.  But  it  took  a 
bit  of  time  to  get  it  well  round;  the  change  come  so  oncommon 
plump  ;   didn't  ii  i  ' 

Somehow  1  was  not  best  pleased  with  .Toe's  being  so  mightily 
secure  of  me.  I  should  have  liked  him  to  have  betrayed  emotion, 
or  to  have  said,  "  It  does  you  credit,  Lip,"  or  something  of  that 
sort.  Therefore  I  made  no  remark  on  doe's  tirst  head  :  merely 
saying,  as  to  his  second,  that  the  tidings  had  indeed  come  sudden- 
ly, but  thai  1  had  always  wanted  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  had  often 
and  often  speculated  on  what  I  would  do  if  I  were  one. 

"  Have  you  though  !"  said  Joe.     "  Astonishing  !  " 

•'  It's  a  pity  now,  due."  said  I.  "that  you  did  not  gel  on  a  little 
more,  when  we  had  our  lessons  here  ;   isn  t  it  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Joe.  "  I'm  so  awful  dull.  I'm 
only  master  of  my  own  trade.  It  were  always  a  pity  as  I  was  so 
awful  dull  ;  but  it's  no  more  of  a  pity  now  than  it  was — say  this 
day  twelvemonth — don't  you  sejB  !  " 

What  I  had  meant  was,  that  when  I  came  into  my  property  and 

was  able  to  do  something  for  doe,  it  would   have  been  much   more 

•  sable  if  he  had  been  better  qualified  for  a  rise,  in  station,     He 

was  so  perfectly. innocent  of  my  meaning,  however,  that  I  thought 

I  would  mention  it  to  Biddy  in  preference. 

So,  when  we  had  walked  home  and  had  had  tea,  I  took  Biddy 
into  our  little  garden  by  the  aide  of  the  lane,  and,  after  throwing 
out  in  a  general  way  for  the  elevation  of  her  spirits,  that  I  should 
never  forget  her.  said  I  had  a  favor  to  ask  of  her. 


120  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"And  it  is,  Biddy,"  said  I.  "that  you  will  Dot  omit  any  tippor- 
tunit\  ing  Joe  on  a -little." 

"How  helping  him  on  ?"  asked  Biddy  with  a  stead)- sort  of 
glance. 

"Well  !  Joe  is  a  dear  good  fellow — in  fact,  I  think  he  is  the 
dearest,  fellow  that  ever  lived — but  he  is  rather  backward  in  some 
things.     For  instance,'  Biddy,  in  his  learning  and  his  maimers." 

Although  I  was  looking  at  Biddy  as  I  spoke,  and  although  she 
opened  her  eyes  very  wide  when  had  I  spoken,  she  djd  not  look  at 
me.  ' 

"  Oh.  his  manners  !  'Won't  his  manners. do  then  1 "  asked  Bid- 
dy, plucfting  a  black  currant  leaf. 

"My  dear  Biddy,  they  do  very  well  here — " 

"  Oh,  they  do  very  well  here  \ "  interposed  Biddy,  looking cjose- 
ly  at -the  leaf  in  her  hand. 

"  Hear  .me  out — but  if  I  were  to  remove  Joe  into  a  higher  sphere, 
as  I  shall  hope  ro'remove  him  when  I  come  into  my  property,  they 
would  hardlydo"  him  justice.'' 

"And  cfbn't  you  think  he  knows  that?  "  asked  Biddy. 

It  was  such  a  very  provoking  question  (for  it  had  never  in  the 
most  distant  maimer,  occurred  to  me),  that  I  sank  snappishly* 
"  Bi  sou  mean  '(  " 

Biddy  having  rubbed  the  leaf  to  pieces  between  her  hands — and 
tiie  smeil  of  a  black  current  bush  has  ever  since  recalled  to.  me 
that  evening  in  the  little  garden  by  the  side  of  the  lane — said, 
"'Have  you  ever  considered  that  he  may  be  proud  .'"' 

"Proud  !"  1  repeated  with  disdainful  'emphasis. 

-  I  >h  !  there  are  many  kinds  of  pride,"  said  Biddy,  looking  lull 
at  me  and  shaking  her  head  ;  "  pride  is  not  all  of  one  kind — " 

"  Well  !     What  are  you  stopping  for]"  said  I. 

"  Not  all  of  one  kind,"  resumed  Pdddy.  "  ^e  mav  'te  1"°  proud 
to  let  any  one  take  him  out  of  a  place  that  he  is  competent  to  till, 
and  fills  welKmd  with  respect.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  1  think  he 
is ;  though  it  sounds  bold  in  me  to  say  so,  for  you  must  know  him 
far  better  than  I  do." 

"  Now,  Biddy r  said  I,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  this  in  you.  I 
did  not  expect  to  see  this  in  you.  You  are  envious*  Biddy,  and 
grudging.  You  are  dissatisfied  on  account  of  my  rise  in  fortune, 
and  you  can't  help  showing  it." 

"If  you  have  the  heart  to  think  so,"  returned  Biddy,  "say  so. 
Say  so  oyer  and  over  again,  if  you  have  the  heart, to  think  so. ' 

"If  you  have  the  heart  to  be  so,  you  mean,  Biddy,"  said  I,  in  a 
virtuous  and  superior  tone  ;  "  don't  put  it  off  upon  me. .  I  am 
very  sorry  to  see  it,  and  it's  a — it's  a  bad  side  of -human  nature. 
I  did  intend  to  ask  you  to  use  any  liule  opportunities  you  might 
have  after  I  was  gone  of  improving  dear  Joe.      But  after  this  I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  121 

ask  you  nqtlii  extremely  sorry   to  see  this   in  you.  Bid- 

dy," !  repeated.     "It's  & — it's  a  bad  side  of  human  natiiri ." 

••  Whether  you  scold  me  or  api  Bid- 

t]yV"you  Lily  depend  upon  my  trying  ig  do  all  that  lies 

in  in)  pi  at   all   limes.     And  whatever  'opinion  you 

away  of  mei  shall  make  no  difference  in  my  wmeinbrance  of  you. 
Yri  a  -I  iih'inan  should  jmi  be  unjust  neither,"  said  Biddy,  turn- 
ing away  her  head. 

1  again  warmly  repealed  that    il  was   a   had   side  of  human  na- 
tur  ■  (ie  which  sentiment,  waiving  its  application,  1  have  since  seen 
reason  to  tjiink  I  was  right),  and   T  walked   down   the  fitrte 
away  from  Biddy,  and  Biddy  weni  into  the  house,  and   1  went   on! 
al  the  garden*   gate  and  took  a  dejected  str#U  until  siipper-T 

.;  feeling  ii  very  sorrowful  and  strange  thai  this,  the  second 
night  of  my  brrghl  fortunes,  should  be  as  lonely  and  unsatisfacio- 
ry  as  the  first. 

i  morning  mice  more  brightened  my  view,  and  1  extended  my 
clemency  t,0  Biddy,  and  we  dropped  the  subject.  Putting  on 
hest  .(dollies  1  had,  L  went  into  town  as  early  as  ]  could  hope  to 
rind  the  shops  open,  and  presented  myself  before  Mr.  Trabh,  the 
tailor,  who' was  having  his  breakfas.1  in  the  parlor  behind  Ins  shop, 
and  who  did  n4  think  il  worth  his  while  to  come  out  to  me,  hut 
called  me  in  to  him. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Mr.  Trabb,  in  a  hail-follow-well-met  kind  of  May. 
i\v  are  you,  and  what  can  I  do  for  you  1  " 

Mr.  Trabh  had  sliced  his  hot  roll  into  three  Feather  beds,  arid 
was  slipping  buttef  in  between  the  blankets,  and  covering  il  up. — 
lie  was  a  prosperous  old  bachelor,  and  his  open  window  looked 
into  a  prosperous  little  garden  and  orchard,  and  there  was  a  pros- 
perous iron  safe  lor  into  tiie  wall  at  tha  side  of  his  fire-placy,  and 
I  did  not  doubt  that  heaps  of  his  prosperity  were  put  away  in  it 
In  bags. 

"  Mr.  Trabh,''  saidT,  "  it's  an  unpleasant  thing  (o  have  to  men- 
tion, because  it  looks  like  boasting;  but  1  have  come  into  a  hand- 
some property/' 

A  change  passed  over  Mr.  Trahk  lie  forgot  the  butter  in  bed, 
got  up  from  the  bedside  and  wiped-  his  fingers  on  the  tab.c-elolh, 
exclaiming,  "Lord  bless  my  soul  !  " 

an;  going  up  io  my  guardian  in  London,"  said  I.  casually 
drawing  some  guineas   out    of  my  pocket,   and   looking  at  them  ; 

1  want,  a-  fashionable  suit  of  clothes  io  go  in.     I  wish  to 
for  them.'-   I   added — otherwise   1  thought  he  might  only  pretend 
to  make  them,  "  with  ready  mom 

"  My.  dear  Sir,"  f  .'  as    he  respectfully    bent    his 

body,  opened  his  arms,  and  took  the  liberty  of  touching  me  m 
outside  of  each eibow*  "don't  bur;  me  by  mentioning  May 


122  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  venture  to  ppngratulate  you  ?  Would  you.do  me  ihe  favor  of 
striping  irtr'o ,t,hc  si,- 

Now  Mr.  Trubb'h  I  o.v  was  the  most,  audacious  hey  in 
country-side,  Whefi  1  had  entered  lie  was  sweeping  llic  shop, 
and  he  had  sweetened  his  labors  by  sweeping  uv'er  inc.  He  was 
still  sweeping  when  1  came  out  into  the  shop  with  Mr.  Trahh,  and. 
he  knocked  the  broom  against  all  possible  corners  and  obstacles, 
to  express  (as  I  understood  it)  equality" with  any  black  mith,  alive 
or  dead. 

"Hold  that  noise,"  said  Mr.  Trabb.  wilh    ii  r  stern- 

ness, "'or  I'll  knock  your  head  off,!  Do  me  the  faVbr  to  be  seat- 
ed. Sir.  Now  this,"  said  Mr.  Trabb,  taking  down  a  roll  of  cloth, 
and  lidmg  it  out  in  j#fb>wing  manner  over  the  counter,  preparatory 
to  getting  his  hand  under  it  to  show  the  gloss,  "  is  a  very  sweet 
article.  I  can  recommend  it  for  your  purpose,  Sir,  because  it 
really  is  extra  super.  lint' you  shall  see  some  others.  Give  me 
Number  Four,  you  !''  (  To  the  boy,  and  with  dreadful  severity, 
foreseeing  the  danger  of  that  miscreant's  brushing  me  with  it,  or 
making  some  otiier  sign  of  familiarity.) 

Mr. .Trabb  never  removed  his  stern  eye  from  the  boy  until  he 
had  deposited  number  four  on  the  counter  and  was  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance again.  Then  he  commanded  him  to  bring  number  live  and 
number  eight.  "  And  lei  me  have  none  of  your  tricks  here,"  sa  d 
L'rabfo,  "or  you  shall  repent  it.  you  young  scoundrel,  the 
longest  day  you  have  to  live." 

Mr.  Trabb  then  bent  over  number  four,  and  in  a  sort  of  defer- 
entj'al  confidence  recommended  it  to  me  as  a  light  article  for  sum- 
mer wear,  an  article  much  in  vogue  among  t be  nobiliiy  and  gen: 
try,  an  article  that  it  would  ever  be  an  honor  to  him  to  reflect  upon 
a  distinguished  fe  low-townsman's  (if  he  might  claim  me  for  a  fel- 
low-townsman) having  worn.  "Are  you  bringing  numbers  five 
and  eight,  yon  vagabond."  said  Mr.  Trabb  to  the  boy  after  that; 
'•  or  shall  I  Kick  you  out  of  the  sine,)  and  bring  them  myself?" 

I  selected  the  materials  f  >r  a  sub.  with  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Trabb's  judgment,  and  re-entered  the  parlor  to  be  measured.  For, 
although  Mr.  Trabb  had  my  measure  already,  and  had  previously 
been  qui  '-contented  with  it.hesafd  apologetical  y  that  it  "wouldn't 
do  under  existing  circumstances,  Sir  — wouldn't  do  at  all.' 
So  Air.  Trabb  measured  and  calculated  me,  in  the  parlor,  as  if  I 
were  an  estate  and  he  the  finest  species  of  surveyor,  and  gave  him- 
self such  a  worid  of  trouble  that  I  felt  that  no  suit  of  clothes  con  d 
possib  y  remunerate  him  for  his  pains.  When  he  had  at  last  done, 
and  had  appointed  to  send  the  articles  to  Mr.  Pumblechook's  on 
the  Thursday  evening,  he  said,  with  bis  hand  upon  the  parlor 
lock,  "  I  know,  Sir,  that  London  gentlemen  can  not  be  expected 
to  patronize  local  work,  as  a  rule,  but  if  you.wou.d  give  me  a  turn 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  LS3 

now  and  then  in.the  quality  of  a  townsman,  1  should  greatly  es- 
teem it.     (iii  d-i 'ning.SIr;  much  .obliged.     Door!" 

ing  al  (In*  boy,  who  had  nol  tl.eleasi  no- 
tion what  it  meant.  Bui  I  saw  him  col  apse  as  his'master  rubbed 
hie  out  with  his.  hands,  and  my  first  decided  experience  of  ti." 
Stupendous  power  of  money  was,  that  it  bad  morally  laid  upon  his 
hack  Trahb's  hoy! 

After  this  memorable  event.  J  went  to  the  hatter's,  and  the 
bootmaker's,  and  the  hosier's,,  and  felt  rat  lifer  like  .Mot  her  Hub- 
bard's flog,  whose  out  tit  required  the  services  of  so  many  (trades. 
1  also  went  to  the  cnach-ollicc,  and  look  my  place  for  seven  o'clock 
mi    Saturday   morning.      It  was  not  to   explain  every 

where  that  1  had  coma  into  a  handsome  proper!)  ;  but  whenever 
1  said  any  thin.tr  to  thai  etlecl.it  billowed  that  the  officiutilig 
tradesman  ceased  to  have  his  attention  diverted  through  the  win- 
dow liy  the  liigh  Street,  aiul  concentrated  his  mind  upon  hie. 
When  1  had'  ordered  every  thing  1  wanted  1  directed  my  steps 
toward  I'umhlcchook's,  and  as  I  approached  that  gentleman's 
place  of  business  1  saw"hini  standing  at  his  door. 

lie  was' waii ing  for  me  with  great    impatience     He  had  been 
early  with  his  chaise  carl,  and  had  called  at  the  forge  and  heard 
the  mws.     lie  had  prepared  a  collation  forme  in  the   Barnwell 
lor,  and  he  too  ordered  his  sjinpnian  to  "  come  out  of  the  gang- 
way'   as  my  sacred  person  passed. 

•'  My  d  ar  iriebd."  said  Mr.  Pifmblechook,  taking  me  by  both 
hands,  when  l.e  and  I  and  the  collation  were  alone,  "  [-give  you 
joy  of. your  good  fortune;     Well  deserved,  well  deserved  !" 

This  was  coming  to  the  point,  and  I  thought  it  a  sensible  way 
of  expressing  bin- 

"  To  think,"  said  Mr.  Pumbleenook,  after. snorting  admiration 
at  me  f.rsonie  moments,  "  that  I  should  have  been  the  humble 
instrument  of  leading  up  to  this,  is  a  proud  reward.'' 

1  begged  Mr.  Pnmhlechook  to  remember  that  nothing  was  to 
be  ever  said  or  hinted  on  that  point 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Pumblccimok,  "  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  call  you  so—" 

I  murmured  "Certainly;"  and  Mr.  Fumblechook  took  me  by 
both  bands  again,  and  communicated  a  movement  to  his  waist- 
ooa<  thai  had  an  emotional  appearance,  though  it  was  rather  low 
down — "  My  dear  young  friend,  rely  upon  my  doing  my  Utile  a  1 
in  your  absence,  by  keeping- the  fact  before  the  mind  of  Joseph. 
Joseph  !"  said  Mr.  Puuiblechook,  in  the  v  compassionate 

adjuration.  "Joseph!  Joseph!"  Thereupon  he  shook  his  head 
and  tapped  it,  expressing  his  sense  of  deficiency  in  Joseph. 

"But  my  dear  young  friend."  said  Mr.  l'umblechook,  "you 
must  be  hungry,  you  must  be  exhaused.  Be  seated.  Here  is  a 
chicken  had  round  from  the  Boar,  here  is  a  tongue  had  round  from 


124  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  Boar,  here's  one  or  two  little  things  that  I  hope  you  may  not 
despise.'    But /do  I,"  said  Mr.  PumMcehopk,  getting  up  again 
niomeril  after  he  had  sat  down  "  see  afore  me,  him  as  I  eve*r  sjjur.t,- 
ed  with  in  Ids  limes  of  happy  infancy  '.     And  may  Y—om'y  1  —  ?" 

This  May- 1  meant,  might  he.  shake  hands?  I  consented,. and 
he  was  fervent,  and  .then  sat'  down  agiia 

"Here  is  wine,''  said  Mr.  Putnb  echook.  '  '"  Let  us  drink. 
Thanks  to  Fortune,  and  may  she  ever  piek  out  her  favorites  with 
equal  judgment!  A'nfl  yet  I  can  nut,'  said  Mr.  Pumblechook, 
getti|ig»up  again,  "see  ai'ore  me  One — and  likeways  drink,  to  One 
— without  agitin  expressing — May  I — may  I — V 

I  said  he  might,  and  he  shook  hands  with  me  again,  and  emp- 
tied his  glass  and  turned  it  upside  down.  I  did  the  same;  and  if 
I  had  turned  myself  upside  down  before  drinking,' the  wine  would 
not  have  gone  more  direct  to  my  head. 

Mr.  Pomblechoob  helped  me  to  th#  liver  wing,  and  to  the  best 
slice  of  tongue  (none  of  those  out-of-the-way  JSio  Thoroughfares 
of  Pork  now),  and  look,  comparatively,  speaking,  no  care  of  him- 
self at  all.     '-Ah!   poultry,  poultry  !     Yrtii   little  thought,"  said 
Mr.  Pumhlechook.  apostrophizing  the  fowl  in  the  dish*,  "  whenyou 
was  a  young  fledgeling,  what  was  in  store  for  you.     You   li 
thought  you  was  to  be  refreshment   beneath  this  humble  rool 
one  as — Ball  it  a  weakness,  if  you.  will,"  said  Mr.  Punrbleck 
getting  up  again,  "bat  may  I  ?  may  1  '"  .L 

It  began  to  he  unnecessary  to  repeal  the  form  of  saying  he- 
might,  so  he  did  it,  at  once.  How  he  ever  did  it  so  often  without 
mortally  wounding  himself  with  my  knife,  {  don't  know. 

"And  your  sister,"  he  resumed. after  a  little  steady  eating, 
"which  had  the  honor  of  bringing  you   up  by  hand!     It's  a  sad  . 
pictcr,  to  reflect  that,  she's  no  longer  equal  to  fully  understanding 
the  honor.     May — " 

I  saw  he  was  about  to  come  at  me  again,  and  T  stopped  him. 

"  We'll  drink  her  health,"  said 

"  Ah  I"  cried  Mr.  Pumblechook.  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  quite 
flaccid  with  admiration,  "that's the  way  von  know  'em,  .Sir !"  (I 
don't  know  who  Sir  was,  but  he  certainly  was  not  I,  and  there 
was  no  third  person  present) ;  "  that's  the  way  you  know  the  no- 
ble minded.  Sir  !  Ever  forgiving  and  ever  affable.  , It  might," 
said  the  servile  Pumblechook,  putting  down  his  untested  glass  in 
a  hurry  and  getting  up  again,  "to  a  common  person,  have  the 
peararice  of  repealing — but  may  I  —  ?" 

When  he  bad  done  it  he  resumed  his  seat  and  drank  to  my  sis-' 
ter.     "Let   us  never  be  blind,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  "to 
faults  of  temper,  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  she  meant  well." 

At  about  this  time  I  began  to  observe  that  he  was  getting  flush- 
ed in  the  face:  as  to  myself,  I  felt  all  face,  .steeped  in  wine  and 
smarting. 


■  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  125 

I  mentioned  tn  Mr.  Fumblec-hook  that  T  wished  to  have  rriy 
clollies  sen.1  to  his  house,  and  lit-  was  ecstatic  on  my  so  distinguish- 
ing him.  J  mentioned  my  reason  for  desiring  Ui  avo'i^ybservaj 
[ion  in  the  village,  at  (flic  lauded  it  to  the  skies.  There  was  no- 
body hut  himself,  lie  intimated,  worthy  of  my  confidence,  and — 
in  Short,  might  lie?  Then  he  asked  me  tenderly  if  1  rememl" 
our  b'oyish  games  at  sums,  and  how  we  had  gone  t:  gel  her  to  have 
mejiouud  apprentice,  and, in  effect-,  how  he  had  ever  been  my  fa- 
vorite fancy  and  my  chosen  friend  I  If  1  had  taken  ten  times  as 
many  glasses  of  wine  as  I  had.  I  should  have  known  that  In-  never 
had  stood  in.  that  relation  toward  me,. and  shou  d  in  my  heat 
hearts  ha\e  repudiated  Hie  i,dea.  Yet  for  all  that,]  remember 
leeling'coiiviiiced  t hat'  1  had  been  much  mistaken  in  him,  and  that 
he  was  a  sensible,  practical*,  good-hearted,  prime  fellow. 

i'.\  decrees  he  fell  to  reposing  such  great  confidence  in  me.  as 
to  ask  my  ad»vice  in  referenee  to  his  own  affairs.  He  mentioned 
rha  m  opportunity  for  a  great  amalgamation    and 

monopoly  ol'ilc  coin  and  seed  trade  on  those  premises,  if  enlarg- 
ed' occurred  before  in  thai,  or  any  other  m 
iioi'hood.      What  a  one  was  wanting  to  the   realization    of  a   vast 
t'.iie  he  considered  to   he  More,  Capital.      Those  were   the  two 
little  words,   more   capital.     Now  it  appeared    to  hi.u  (Punible- 
chojik)  that  if  tlrt  capital  were  gut  into  the   business  through   a 
sleeping  partner,  Sir:  which  sleeping  partner  would  have-jio 
to    i\o   but    wa,k  'in,  by  sell'  or   deputy,  whenever  he  ph 
ejainine  the  books — and  walk-  in  twice  a  year  and  rake  his  profits 
uv.  ay   in    his  pocket,  lo  the  tune  of  fifty  per  ceffl — il.appeaied    to 
him  that  -that ■  might  tie.  an  opening  for  aiyoifng  gent lemaii  of  spirit 
combined  with*  property,  which  would  be-worihy  of  attention. 
what  did  I  think?     lie.  had  great  confidence  in  my  opinion,  and 
what  did  1  think  ?      J  gavejt  as  my  opinion,   "  Wait  a  bit  y    The 
united  vastness  and  distinctness  ol  .this  view  so  struck  him 

■ked  if  he,  might  shak$  hands  with  me,  but  said   he 
really  must — and  did. 

We, drank  all  the  wine,  and  Mr.  Pumbleehook  pledged  bin 
owrand  over  again  to  keep  Joseph  up'  to  the  mark  (i  don't  know 
what  mark),  and  to  render  me  efficient  and  constant  servh 
don't  know  what  ser\  ice),  lie1  also  made  known  tome  for  the 
■  in  my  life,  and  certain. y  alter  having  kept  his'  secret 
wonderfully  well,  thai  he  had  always  said  of  me,  "That  boy  is 
no  common  boy,  and  mark  me,  his  fortun'  will  be 'no  common  for- 
tun'."  I If  said  with  a  tearful  smile  that  it  was  a  singular  thing 
to  think  of  now,  and  !  said  so  too.  finally,  1  went  out  into  the 
air  with  a  dim  perception  that  there  was  something  unwonted  in 
the  conduct  of  the  Nunahine  d  that    I    had  sl'umherously 

got  to  I  he  turnpike  Viilhoiit  ken  any  account  of  the  road. 

Tliery  1  was  rou*cU  by  Air.  i/uuibiecbuuk's  hailing  uie.     JbU 


1-26  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

was  a  long  way  down  the  sunny-street,  and  was  making  expressive 
gestures  for  me  In  stop.     I  stopped,  and  he  came  up  breath  ess. 

'•  No,  iny'dear  friend,"  said   he,  when    lie 'had   recovered  wind 
for  speech.     "  Not  if  I  can   help  it.     This  occasion  shall  not  en- 
|y  pass  without  that,  affability  on  your  part. — May  1,  as  an 'old 
friend  and  well-wisher /     May,  I  ?" 

Wfe  slmok  hands  for  the  hundredth  time  at  least,  and  lie  order- 

a  young  carter  out  of  myway  willi  the  greatest  indignation. 

blessed  me,  and  sto;  d  waving  his  hand  to  me  nut il  rhad 

-<-d  the  crook  in  the  road  ;  and   then  I  turned  into  a  field  and 

had  a  long  nap  under  a  hedge  before  I  pursued  my  way  home. 

I  Had  .scant  iugga^e  to  take  with  me  to  London,  for  little  of  the 
little  I  possessed  was  adapted  to  my  new  station,  .lint  I  heg*an 
packing  that  same  afternoon,  and  wildly  packed  up  things  that  I 
knew  1  should  want  next  morning,  in  a-fntinn  that  there  was  nut 
a  moment  fo  be  lost. 

So  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  and  Thursday  passed,  and  on  Friday 
morning  I  went  to  Mr.  Pumblechook's  to  put  on  my  new 'clothes 
and  j>a\  my  visit  to. Miss  Iiavisham.  Mr.  Pumblechook's  own 
:■  mm  was  given  tip  to  me  to  dress  in,  and  was  decorated  with  clean 
towels  expressly  for  the  event.  My  clothes  we're  rather  a  disap- 
pointment,'of  course.  Probably  every  new  and  eagerly  expected 
garment  ever  put  on  since  clothes  came  in  fell  a  trifle  shVrt  of  the 
Wearers  expeciaihm.  But  after  I  had  bad  hiy  new  suit  on  : 
half  an  hour,  and  had 'gone  •through  an  i  inensity  -of  posturing 
with  Mr.  Pumblechook's  very  limited  dressing  glass,  in  the  futile* 
endeavor  t<j  see-  my  legs,  it  seemed  to  ti/'nie  better.  It  In 
market  morning  at  a  neigh boring  town  some  ten  miles  off. *$r. 
Pumbleebook  was  not  at  home.  .1  had  not  told  him  exactly  when 
1  meant  to  leave,  and  was  «not  likely  to,  shake  hands  with  him 
in  before  departing.  This  Mas  all  as  ii  should  he,  and  I  went 
out  i;i  my  new  array  :  .fearfully  ashamed  of  having  to  pass  the 
man,  and  suspicious  afti^r  all  that  1  was  at  a  pergonal  disad- 
vantage, something  like  Joe  in  bis  Sunday- suit. 

1  weni  circuitously  to  Miss  liavisham's  by  all   the  back  ways, 
and   fang  at    the  bell  constrainedly,  on  account  of  the    stiff  loiig 
is  of  my  gloves.     Sarah  1'ocket  came  to  'he  i:ale.  and  posi- 
tively reeled  bapk  when  she  saw7  me  so  changed  ;   her  walnut-shell 
countenance  likewise  turned  from  brown  tOjgreen  and  yellow. 

"You/"  said  she.  "  You,  good  gracious/  What  do  you 
want/*'  • 

"  Lam  going  to  London,  Miss  Pocket,"  said  I,  "and  want  to 
say  good  by  fo  Miss  Iiavisham." 

i  was  not  expected,  for  she  left  me  locked  in  Ike  yard  while  she 
wenr  to  as  .  ifi  were  to  bt  admirted.  After  a  short  delay  she  re- 
turned and  touk  me  up,  staring  at  me  all  the  way. 

Miss  Havisiiam  was  taking  tiurcUe  iu  the  room  with  the  long 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  127 

spread  table',  leaning  on  her  erntched  stick.  The  room  was  light- 
ed as  uf;yore,  and  al  l*he  sound  of  our  entrance  si  e  stopped  and 
turned.     Sh«,W$sVhen  just  abreast  of  the  rotted  die. 

<■  Don!  I  go,  Sarah, "   she  said.     "  Well,  Pip  >" 
"  f  start  lor  London,  .Miss   Havisham,  to-morrow  "— 1    was  ex- 
ceedingly careful  what  1  said — "and  1  thought  you  would  kindly 
rvol  mind  my  falling  leave  of  you." 

"  This  is  a  -ay  figure,  Pip;,'.'  said  she,  maMng  her  enitehed  stick- 
play  round  me,  as  il   siie,  the  fairy,  godmother' Who  had  chat 
me.  were  bestowing  the  finishing  gift, 

'•  1  have  coineiuio  such  g*>od  fortune  since  l  saw  yon  last,  Miss 
iJavisham,"    I  murmured.     "  And  I  am  so   thankful   lor  it    .Miss 
ishainr' 

y  !'"  said   she  looking  at    the  discomfitted    and   envious 
nil  maniicst.  deii«h!.     "  I  have  seen  Mr.  daggers,      /have 
heard  about  it,  Pip.     So  you  go  to-morrov. 
"  Yes,  Miss  li'avisrtuun." 
'■•  And  yoii  are  adopted  by  a  rich  person  V. 
"  Yes,      iss  Havisham." 
"  Not.  named  I  ' 
"  No._Mi.ss  liavisham." 

'.nd  Mr.  Jagsers  is, made  your  guardian?" 
"  Yes,  Miss  liavisham." 

•■   quite  gloated  on    these  questions    and    answers,   so   keen' 
her  enjoyment  of  Sarah  Pocket's'  jealous  dismay'.     "  Well  !  ' 
she  went  on;   "  ;e  a  |U'oniising  career  before  you.  .  He  : 

—  deserve  Lt-i-and    al ■ide  by    Mr.  Jaggers's  instructions.'!     She 
looked   at    me,    and    looked    at   Sarah,  and  Sarah's  coahtei'iance 
g  out  of  her  watchful  lace  a  cr   el  smile.     "  Oood-hy,  Pip  !  — 
you  will  always  keep  the  name  of  Pip  ?'' 
"  Yes,  Miss  liavisham." 

'{Good  by,  Pip!" 

She  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  I  went  down-on  my  knee  and 
pul  ii  to  my  lips.  1  had  not  considered  how.  J  sjmuld  ivdce  leave 
e  naturally  to.mt*  a:  tht  monies!  to  do  this.  She 
looked  at  Sarah  I'm'  el  with,  triumph  hi  her*vweir'd  eyes,  and  so  L 
le/J  ufiy  Fairy  gftdmoth  t.  with  both  her  hands*  orf  iier  erutched 
.  siandmg  in  the  midst  of  the.  dimly  ighted  room. beside  the 
rolien  hride-c  as  hidden  in  cobwebs. 

,vn  as  if  I  were  a  gh  mist 

en  out.     She  could  not  gel   over   my  appearance, land  was  in 
the  lasl  dPgree  confounded.     I  said,  "  (Jood-Uy,  Miss  Pocket  ;"'  hut, 
red1!  and  did  not  seem  colleclcd  cm. ugh  to  know  that 
1  had  spoken.     Clear  of  the  house,  1   made  the  hesl   of  my 
back  to  Pumbl  •  ■  i  lothes,  made  them   into 

a  bundle,  uud  went  back  home  iu  my  older  drest^  carrying  it — to 


12^  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

speak  the  truth,  much  more,  at  my  ease  too,  "though  I  had  the  bun- 
dle to, carry. 

And  now  .those  six  days  which  were  to  have  run  out  so  slowly, 
hat!  ast  and  were  gone:  and  to-morrow  looked  ine  in  the 

face  mure  steadily  than  I  could  look  at  it.  As  the  six  evenings 
dwindled  away  to  five,  to  four,  to -three,  to  two,  I  had  become 
e'and  more  appreciative  of  the  society  of  Joe  aiftl  Biddy.  On 
last  evening  I  dressed  myself  out  in  my  new  clothes  for  their 
:hf.  and  sat  iri  my  •splendor  until  bed-time.  W'e'hada  hot  sup- 
on  the  occasion,  graced  by  the  inevitable  roast,  fowl, 'and  . 

with.     We  were  all  very  low,  ami  none  the  higher  for 
fjlding  to  be  in  spirils. 
I  was  to  leave  our  village  at  iive  in   the  morning,  carrying  my 
little  liand-portmanteau,  and  I  had 'told  .Toe  that  I  wished  to  walk- 
away all  alone.     1  am  afraid— I  am  sore  afraid — that  this  purpose 
mated  in  my  sense  of  the  Contrast  there  would  be  between  me 
doe  if  we  went  to  the  coach  together.     I  had  pretended  with 
myjself  thai  there  was  nothing  of  this  taint  in  the  arrangement?; 
bal  when  i  went  up  to  my  little  room  on  this  last,  night  i  felt  com- 
i  (J  to  admit  that  it  might  be  so,  ami   had  .an  iihpufse  npon  me 
i  down  again  and  entreat  Joe  with  me  in  the 

:•  all.      I  did  not. 
All  night  there  v,  ■  en  sleep, going  to  wr 

places  instead  of  to  London, and  having  in  the  traces,  rfow  tiog$, 
cats,  now  pigs,  now  men — never  horses.      Fantastic   fa;. 
iirmws  occupied  me  until  the  day  dawned  and  the  bi 
siugidg.     I*hen,  i  got  up  and  pari  -d,  am!   sat   at   the  win- 

•:.  ■  a  last  look  out,  and  in  taking  it  fell  asleep, 
ddy  was  astir  so  early  to  get   my  breakfast   that,  although  1 
•     an  hour,  1  swelled  the  smoke  of  the  kitchen  tire  when 
,  terrible  idea  that,  it  hiust   be  late. in  the  after- 
■   noon.     But  long  after  that,  and  long  ai'ter  I  had   heard 
-  and  wits  (juite  ready,  I  wanted   the    . 
lirs.     After  all,  1  remained  up  there,  tiding  to  cl 
repcaU'dlv'uuloekiiig  and.  unstrapping  my   &miall,*port- 
rappiiig#tVp  again,  until  Biddy  called 
!    I  wasj;  '■■. 

Jv  :  breakfast  with  in  it.      I  got   up  from 

the  meal,  saying  with  a  sort  of  JjriSkuess,  as  if  it  had  only  just  oc- 
curred to  me,  "Well!  I  suppose'  I  must  be  off!  '  and  then  I 
kis;-;e  ter,  who  was  laugh  trig   ami  nodding  and  shaking  in 

her    i  ir,   and  kissed' Biddy,  and  threw  my   arms  around 

Joe's  neck.  Then  1"  took  up  my  little  portmanteau  Snd  walked 
out.     Tim  w  of  them  was  when  1  presently  heard- a  scuffle 

behind  me.  ami  looking  back,  saw  Joe.  throwing  an  old  shoe  after 
me  and  Biddy  throwing  another  old  s?me.  I  stopped  then  to 
wave  my  hat,  and  dear  uld  Jee  waved  his  strong  right  arm  above 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  1» 

his  head,  crying  huskily.  "  Hooroar !"  and  Biddy  put  her  apron  to 
her  face! 

■  I  walked  .-'.way  at  a  good  pace,  thinking  it  was  easier  fo  go  than 
I  had  supposed  it  would  be,  and  reflecting  that  it  would  neVCr 
have  done  to  have  an  old  shoe  thrown  after  the  coach,  in  sighl 
all  the  High  Street.  1  whistled  and  made  nothing  of  it.  But, the 
village  was  very  peaceful  and  quiet, and  the  light  mists  were  sol- 
emnly rising,  as  it'  to  show  me  the  world,  and  I  had  been  so  in- 
nocent and  little  there,  and  all  "beyond  was  so  unknown  and  -real, 
that  all  in  a  moment  with  a  strong  heave  and  sob  ]  broke  into 
tears.  It  was  by  the  finger-post  at  the  end  of  the  village,  and  1 
laid  my  band  upon  it.  and  said,  "Cood-hy,  my  dear,  dear  friend  !" 

Heaven  fcifows  we  need  never  be  ashamed  of  shedding  tears, 
for  they  arc  ram  upon  the  blinding  dust  of  earth,  owrlyi.ig  our 
hard  hearts.  I  was  better  after- 1  had  cried  than  before—  mure 
sorry,  more  aware  of  my  own  ingratitude,  more  gentle  altogether. 
[f  I   had  crijed  pfifpre,  l  should  have  had  Joe  with  me  11 

Sq  subdued  1    was  by  those  tears,  and  by  their  breaking 
again  nao  pee  in  the  course  of  the  quiet  walk,  that  when.  1 

was  on  the  eoach,  and  it  was  clear  of  the  town,  I  deliberated  with 
an  aching  h.-art  whether  1  would  not  get  down  when  we  changed 
horses,  and  walk  back,  and  have  another  evening  at  home,  and  a 
better  parting.  We  changed,  and  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind, 
and  still  i  ■■  for  my   comfort  that  it  would  be  quite  practi- 

cable for  me  to  get  down  and  walk  back,  when  we  changed  again. 
And  while  1  was  occupied  with  these  deliberations,  I  would  fancy 
act  resemblance  to  Joe  in  some  man  coming  along  the  road 
toward  us,  and  my  heart  would  beat  high.  As  if  he- could  pos- 
sibly be  there ! 

We  changed  again,  and  yet  again,  and  it  was  now  loo  late  and 
too  far  to  go  back,  and  i  fcrent  on.     And  the  mists  had  all  solemn- 
and  the  world  was  before  me. 

Tins   ;s  THK   END  OF  ')  HB  KIKsT  s'l'AOK  OF  PlP'S  KXl'F.l  TATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


The  journey  from  our  town  to  the  metropolis  was  ajoun 
about  five  hours.     It  was  a  little  past  mid-day  when  the  four  horse 
stage-coach  by  which  I  was  a  passenger  got  into  the  ravel  of  iiv.f- 
fie  frayed  out  about  the  Cross-Keys,  Wood  Street,  Cheapside.  Lon- 
don. 

We  Britons  had  at  that  time  particularly  settled  that  it  was  trea- 
9 


L30  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Konableto  doubt  cur  having  and  our  being  the  best  of  everything.; 
otherwise,  while  T  was  scared  by  the  immensity  of  London,  I  think 
I  might  have,  had  some  faint  doubts  whether  it  was  hot-rather  ugly, 
crooked,  narrow,  and  smoky. 

Mr.  Jaggers  had  duly  sent  me  his  address;  it  was  Little  Britain, 
and  he  had  written  after  it  on  his  card,  "just  out  of  Smithfield, 
and  close  by  the  coach  office."  Nevertheless,. a  hackney-coachman, 
who  seemed  to  have  as  many  capes  to  his  greasy  great-coat  as  he 
was  years  old,  packed  .me  up  in  his  coach  and  hemmed  me  in  with 
a  folding  and  jingling  barrier  of  steps,  as  if  he  were  going  to  take 
'  me  fifty  miles.  His  getting  on  his  box,  which  I  remember  to  have 
been  decorated  with  an  old  weather-stained  pea-green  hammer- 
cloth,  moth-eaten  into  rags,  was  quite  a  work  of  time.  Altogether, 
it  was  a  wonderful  equipage,  with  six  great  coronets  outside,  and 
ragged  things  behind  for  I  don't  know  how  many  footmen  to  hold 
on  by,  and  a  harrow  below  them,  to  prevent  amateur  footmen  from 
yieldingito  the  temptation. 

I  had  scarcely  had  time  to  enjoy  the  coach  and  to  think  how 
like  a  damp  straw-yard  it  was,  and  yet  how  like  a  rag-shop,  and 
to -wonder  why- the  horses'  nose-bags  were  kept  inside,  when  I  ob- 
served the  coachman  beginning  to  get  down,  as  if  he  were  going 
to  stop  presently.  And  stop  we  presently  did,  in  a  gloomy  street, 
al  certain  offices  with  an  open  door,  whereon  was  painted  Mr.  Ja(;- 

UERS. 

"  How  much  V  I  asked  the  coachman. 

The  coachman  answered,  "A  shilling — unless  you  wish  to  make 
itjnoiv.' 

1  naturally  said  I  had  no  wish  to  make  it, more. 

"  Then  it  must  be  a. shilling," observed  the  coachman.  "  1  don't 
want 'to  get  into,  trouble.  I.  know  ki?n  !  "  He  darkly  closed  an 
ey.e  at  Mr.  dagger's  name,  and  shook  hi*s  head. 

When  he  had  got  his  shilling,  and  hacl  in  course  of  time  com- 
pleted the  ascent  to  his  box,  and  had  got  away  (which  appeared 
to  relieve  Ins  mind),  1  went  into  the  front  office  with  my  port- 
manteau in  my  hand,  and  asked, .Was  Mr.  Jaggers  at  home  % 

"  He  is  not, '  returned  the  clerk.  He  is  in  Court  at  present.  Am 
1  addressing  Mr.  Pip  '?"  ■ 

I  signified  that  he  was  addressing  Mr.  Pip. 

"  Mr.  Jaggers  left  word  would  you  wait  in  his  room.  He  could't 
say  how  long  he  might  be,  having  a  case  on.  But  it  stands  to 
reason,  his.  time  being  valuable,  that  he  won;  be  longer  than  he  can 
help." 

With  those  words  the  clerk  opened  a  door,  and  ushered  me  into 
an  inner  chamber  at  the  back..  Here  we  found  a  gentleman  with 
one  eye,  in  a  velveteen  suit  and  knee-breeches,  who  wiped  his  nose 
with  his  sleeve  on  being  interrupted  in  the  perusal  of  the  news- 
paper. 


tfREAT  EXPECTItIONS.  131 

ro  and  wait  outside.  .Mike,"  said  the  cjerk. 

I/began  to  say. thai  I  hoped  I  was  not  interrupting — when  the 
clerk  slipved  th^s  gentleman  nut  with  as  lit  tie.  ceremony  .is  1  ever 
saw  used,  and  tossing  his  l'ur  cap  out  after  him,  left  me  alone. 

Mr..  Jaggers's  room  was  lighted  by  a  skylight  only,  and  was  a 
most  dismal  placej  the  skylight  eccentrically  patched,  like  a  bro- 
ken head,  and  the  distorted  adjoining  houses  looking  as  if  hey  had 
twisted  themselves  to  peep  down  at    me  throui  iere  were 

10  many  papers  about  as  I  shotdd  have  expected  to  see  ;    and 
there  were  some  odd  objects  about  that   !    should  hot  i  1  n \  - 
ed  to  see — such  as  an  old  rusty  pistol,  a  sword  in  a  scabbard,  sev- 
eral strange- looking  boxes   and  packages,  and  two  dreadful  casts 
on  a  shelf  o:  faces  peculiarly  swollen,  and  twitchy  ab'ditl   the  nose. 
Mi;.  Jaggers's  own  high-backed  chair  was  of, deadly  black  horse- 
hair, with  rows  of  brass  nails  round  it  like  a  coffin  ;    and 
I  could  see  how  he  leaned  back   in  -it,  and  bit  his  forefin^ 
clients.     The  room  was  but  small,  and  the  clients  seemed  io  ! 
had  a  habit  of  backing  up  against  the  wall :  for  the  wall,  especial- 
ly opposite  to  Mr.  Jaggery's  chair,  was  greasy  with  shouhlors.     i 
recalled,  too,  that  the  one-eyed  gentleman  had  shuffled  forth  agi 
the  wall  when  I  was  the  innocent  cause  of  his  being  turned  our.     * 

I  sat  down  in  the  cliental  chair  placed  over  against  Mr.  .Jag- 
gers's chair,  and  became  fascinated  by  the  dismal  atmosphere  of 
the  place,  i  called  to  mind  that  the  clerk  had  the  same  air  i^( 
knowing  something  to  every  body  else's  disadvantage  as  his  mas- 
ler  had.  I  wondered  how  many  other  clerks  there  were  up  stairs, 
and  whether  tfley  all  Claimed  to  have  the  same  detrimental  mas- 
tery of  their  H'Mow-crcaiures.  I  wondered  what  was  thehisto 
all  the  odd  litter  about  the  room,  and  how  it  came  there.  I  won- 
dered whether  (he  two  -wo  lien  faces  were  of  Mr,  Jaggers's  family, 
ami,  if  he  were  so   unfi  as  io  have  had  a  pai  b  ill- 

looking  relations,  why  he   siuc.lc  them   on  that  dusty,  pu  eh  I'm-  the 
blacks  and  flies  to  settle  on.  instead  of  giving  them  a  place  at  home. 
-  i  had  no  experience  of  a  London  summer  day,  and  my 
spirits  may  have  been  oppressed  by  the  hot  exhausted  air,  and.  by 

•  list  and  grit  thai  lay  thick   on  every  thing.     Bot  I  sat    . 
deling  and  waiting  in  Mr.  Jaggers's  close  room.  untiM  really  could 
not  bear  the  two  casts  on  the'  shell' above  Mr.  Jaggers's  chair,  and 
got  up  and  went  out. 

When  1  told  the  clerk  that  I  would  take  a  turn  in  the  air  .while  1 
waited,  be  advised  me  to  go  round  the  corner  and  I  shoulci  eon  e  into 
Smithrield.  So  I  came  into  Smithfield,  and  the  shameful  p 
being  all  asmear  with  filth  and  fat  and  blood  and  foam,  seemed  to 
stick,  t0  me'  ^°  I  rubbed  it  off  with  all  possible  speed  1  y  turning 
into  a  street  where  I  saw  the  great  black  dome  of  Saint  Paul's 
bulging  at  me  from  behind  a  grim  stone  building  which  a  by-stander 
±u±d  was  Jvewgato  Prison.     Following  the  wall  of  tlm  jail,  1  found 


139  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  roadway  covered  with  straw  to  deaden  the  noise  of  passing 
vehicles;  and  from  this,  and  from  1  he  quantity  of  people  standing 
about,  smelling  strongly  of  spirits  and  beer,  I  inferred  that  the  tri- 
als were  on. 

While  I  looked  about  me  here,  an  exceedingly  dirty  and  partial- 
ly drunk  .minister  of  justice  alsked  me  if  I  would  |like  to  step  in  and 
hear  a  trial  or  so  :  informing  me  that  he  could  give  me  a  front 
place  for  half  a  crown,  whence  I  should  command  a  full  view  of  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  in  his  wig  and  robes — mentioning  that  awful 
personage  like  wax-work,  and  presently  offering  him  at  the  red 
price  of  eighteen  pence.  As. I  declined  the  proposal  on  the  plea  of 
an  appointment,  he  was  so  good  as  to  take  me  into  a  yard  and  show 
me  where  the  gallows  was  kept,  and  also  where  people,  were' pub- 
licly whippe'd,' and  then  he  showed  me _lhe  Debtors'  Door,  01 
which  culprits  came  to  be  hanged:  heightening  the  inieresi  of  that 
dreadful  porial  by  giving  me  to  understand  that  "four  on -em" 
would 'come  o-.t  at  that  door  the  day  after  to-morrow  at  eight  in 
the  morning,  to  be  killed  in  a  row.  This  was  horrible,  and  gave 
me  rather  a  sickening  idea  of  London  :  tin*  more  so  as  the  Lord  Chief 
Justice's  proprietor  wore  (from  his  hat  down  to  his  boots,  and  up 
again  to  his  pocket-handkerchief  inclusive)  mildewed  clothes,  which 
had  evidently  not  belonged  to  him  originally,  and  which,. I  took 
.  it  into  my  head,  he  had  bought  cheap  of  the  executioner.  Under 
these  circumstances  I  thought  myself  well  rid  of  him  tor  a  shilling. 

i  dropped  into  the  office  to  ask  if  Mr.  daggers  had  come  in  yet, 
and  I  found  he  had  not.  and  i  strolled  out  again.  This  time  1 
e  the  tour  of  Little  Britain,  and  turned  into  Bartholomew  Close; 
and  now  I  became  aware  that  other  people  were  waiting  about  for 
Mr.  Jaggers  as  well  as  I.  There  were  two  men  of  secret  appear- 
ance biunging  in  Ba  w  Close,  and  thoughtfully  fitting  their 
feet  into  the  cracks  of  the  pavement  'as  they  talked  together,  one  of 
whom  said  to  the  other  when  they  firM  passed  me,  that  ".Mr.  Jag- 
gers could  do  it" if  it  was  to  be  do  e."  There  was  a  knot  of  three 
men  and  two  women  standing  at  a-  corner,  and  one  of  the  w- 
was  crying  on  her  dirty  shawl,  and  the  other  comforted  her  by 
saying,  as  she  pulled  her  own  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  "Jaggers 
is  for  him,  ">  ,  and\dj  i  more  coyhl  you  have?"  There  was  a 
•  lew  who  came  into  the  Close  while  I  was  loitering 
it:i  re,  iii  company  with  a  second  little  Jew  whom  he  sent  upon  an 
errand:  and  while  the  messenger  was  gone,  I  remarked  this  Jew, 
who  highly  excitable  temperament,  performing  a  jig  of 
anxiety  under  a  lamp-pOst,  and  accompanying  himself,  in  a  kind  tf 
frenzy,  with  the  words,  "  ( )h  Jaggerth,  Jaggerth,  Jaggerth  ! „  all 
otherth  it  h  Cag-Maggertbi,  give  me  Jaggerth!"  These  testimonies 
to  the  popularity  of  my  guardian  made  a  deep  impression  on  me, 
ana"  I  admired  and  wondered  more  than  ever. 

A*  length/ as  I  was  looking  out  at  the  iron  gate  of  Bartholo- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  133 

mew  Close  info-  Little  Britain,  I  saw  Mr.  Jaggers  coming  across 
tire  road  toward  me.  All  the  others  who  were  waiting  saw  him  at 
tlic  same  time",  and  ihere  was  quite  3  r;ish  at  ram.  Mr.  Jaggers, 
putting  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  walking  me  on  at  his  side 
without  saying  any  thing  to  me.  addressed  himself  to  his  followers. 

First,  he  took  the  two  secret  men. 

"  Now,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  throw- 
ing his  linger  at  them.  "  I  want'to  know  no  more  than  I  know. 
As  to  the  result,  it's  a  toss-up.  1  told  you  from  the  first  it  was  a 
toss-up.     Have  you  paid  Wemriucli  '.' 

"  We  made  the  money  up  this  morning,  Sir,"  said  oue  of  the 
men,  suhmissively,  while  the  other  perused  Mr.  Jaggers's  fare. 

'•  I  don't  ask  ton  when  you  made  it  up,  or  where,,  or  whether 
ypu  made  it  up  at  all.     Has  Wemiuick  got  it  f" 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  said  both  the  men  together. 

";' Very  well;  then  you  may  go.  Now,  I  won't,  have  it!"  said 
Mr.  daggers,  waving  his  hand  at  them  to  put  them  behind  him. 
"  If  you  say  a  word  to  me  I'll  throw  up  the  case."  • 

"  We  thought,  Mr.  Jaggers — "  one  of  the  men  began,  pulling 
off  his  hat. 

"  That's  what  I  told  you  not  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  (  "  You 
thought  !  I  think  fir  you  ;  that's  enough  for  you.  It  I  want,  you, 
1  know  whe,re  to  find  you;  I  don't  want  you  to  find  me.  Now,  I 
won't  have  it.  '  I  won't  hear  a  word." 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  as  Mr.  Jaggers  waved  them 
behind  again,  and  humbly  fell  back  and  were  heard  no  more. 

"And  now  you!"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  suddenly  stopping,  and 
turning  on  the  two  women  with  the  shawls,  from  whom  the  three 
men  had  meekly  separated.     "Oh!  Amelia,  is  it  ?" 

"  Yes.  Mr.  daggers." 

•' And  do  you  remember,"  retorted  Mr.  Jaggers,  "that  but  for 
>u  wouldn't  be  here  and  couldn't  be  here  ?" 

"  <  )u  yes,  Sir  \"  exclaimed  both  women  together.  "Lord  bless 
you.  Sir,  well  we  knows  that," 

"  Then  why,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "  do  you  come  here  .'" 

"  My  Bill,  Sir.!"  the  eryirfg  woman  pleaded. 
,  "  Now,  1  tell  you'  what, !"  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  "  Once  for  all.  If 
you  don't  know  that,  your  Bill's  in  good  hands,  I  know  it.  And 
if  you  come  here,  bothering  about  your  Hill.  I'll  make  an  example 
of  boih  your  Bill  and  ymi.  and  let  him  slip  through  my  fingers. 
Have  you  paid  Wemiuick'  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Sir  !     Every  farden." 

"  Very  well.  Then  you  have  dime  all  you  have  got  to  do.  Say 
another  word — one  single  word — and  Weinmick  shall  give  you 
your  money  'hack." 

This  terrible  threat  caused  the  two  women  to  fall  off  immedi- 
ately.    No  one   remained  now  but   the   excitable  Jew,  who  had 


134  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

already  raised  the  skirts  of  Mr.  Jaggers's  coat  to  bis  lips  several 


limes. 


"  I  don't  know  this  man  !  "  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  in  the  same  de- 
vastating Strain.     "  What  dues  this  fellow  want  ?  " 

"  Ma  thear "Mithter  Jauirertb.  Hown  brother  to  Habraham 
Latharuth  !  "' 

"  Who's  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jaggers.    "  Let  go  of  my  coat*' 

The  suitor,  kissing  the  hem  of  the  garisent  again  before  relin- 
quishing it,  replied,  "Habraham  Latharuth  j  on  thuthpithibn  of 
plate." 

"You're  ioo'late,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers     "  I  am  over  the  way." 
.  "  Holy  father,  Mithter  Jaggerth,"  cried  my  ■  acquain- 

tance, turning  white,  "don't  thav  vou'iv  again    Habraham  Latha- 
ruth !  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "  and  there's  an  end  of  it.     Gel 
of  the  w  a 

'.I  it  liter  Jaggerth  !  Haifa  moment!  My  hown  cuthen'th 
gqpe  to  Mithter  Wemmick  at  thith  prethent  minute,  to  -li offer  him 
hany  termth.  Mithter  Jaggerth  !  Half  a  quarter  of  a' moment ! 
If  you'd  have  the  coridethenth'nn  to  be  bought  off  from  the  t'other 
thide — ar.  hany  thuperior  prithe  ! — money  no  object  1 — Mithter 
-lib— Mithter— !" 

My  guardian  threw  his  supplicant  off •  with  supreme  indifference, 
and  left  him  dancing  on  the  pavement  as  if  it  were1  red-hot.  With- 
out further  interruption  we  reached  the  front  office,' where  we  found 
the  clerk  and  the  man  in  velveteen-  with  the  fur  cap. 

'•  Here's  Mike,'.'  said  the  clerk,  getting  down  from  his  stool,  and 
approaching  Mr.  Jaggers  confidential]}. 

"Oh  !  "  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  turning  to  the  maii,  who  was  pulling 
a  lock  of  hair  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  like  the  Bull  in  Cock 
Robin  pullintr  at  the  bell-rope;  "  vour   man  comes  on   this  after- 
'  noon.    Well?'; 

"  Well,  Mas'r  Jaggers,"  returned  Mike,  in  the  voice  of  a  suffer- 
er from  a  constitutional  cold;  "  arter  a  deal  o'  trouble  I've  found 
one,  Sir,  as  might  do." 

"  What  is  he  prepared  to  swear  I  "  • 

"  Well,  Mas'r  Jaggers,"  said  Mike,  wiping  his  nose  on  his  fur 
cap  this  time,  "  in  a  general  way,  any  think." 

Mr.  Jaggers  suddenly  became  most  irrate.  "Now  I  warned  you 
before,"  said  he,  throwing  his  forefingerat  tire  terrified  client,  "that 
if  you  ever  presumed  to  talk  in  that  way  tiere  I'd  make  an  exam- 
ple of  you.     You  infernal  scoundrel,  how  dare  you  tell  me  that  (  " 

The  client  looked  scared,  but  bewildered  too,  as  if  be  were  un- 
conscious what  he  had  done. 

"  Spooney  !  "  said  the  clerk,  in  a  low  voice,  giving  him  a  stir 
with  his  elbow.     "  Soft  bead  !     Need  you  say  it  face  to  face  i  " 

"  Now,  I  ask  you,  you  blundering  booby,"  said  my  guardian,  very 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  135 

sternly,  "once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  what  the  man  you  have 
brought  here  is  prepare. 1  to  swear  ?  " 

Mike  looked  bard  at  my  guardian!  as  if  lie  were  trying  to  learn 
a  less. in  from  liis  face,  and 'slowly  repjiecj,  "  Ayther  to  ch'aYacter, 
or  to  having  been  in  his  company  and  never  left  him  all  the  night 
in  question. 

ow,  he  careful.     In  what  station  qf  life  is  this  man  I" 

Mike  looked  at  his  cap,  and  looked  at  the  floor,  and  iobked  at 
the  ceiling,  and  looked  at  the  elerk,  and  even  looked  at,  m  i  before 
beginning  to  reply,  in  a  nervous  manner.  "  We've  dressed  him  up 
like — "  when  my  guardian  blustered  i 

••  What  I     Vott  wii.t,,  will  you  ?" 

i"  Spooney  !  "  added  the  elerk*  again,  with  another  stir.) 

After  some  helpless  casting  about,  Mfke  brightened  and  began 
again  : 

"  lie  is  dressed  like  a  'spectable  pie-man.  A  son  of  pastry- 
cook:" 

"  Is  tie  here  I"  asked  my  guardian. 

"  I  left  hiiii,"  said  M£ke,  "a  settiri'  on  some  door-steps  round  the, 
corner." 

••  Take  him  past  that  window,  and  let  me  see  him."  •  •' 

The  window  indicated  was  The  office  window.  We  all  three 
went  to.  it  behind  the  wire  blind,  and  presently  saw  the' client  gb 
by  in  an  accidental  manner,  with  a  murderous-looking  tall  indi- 
vidual, in  a  short  suit  of  white  limicn  and  a  paper  cap.  This  guile- 
less confectioner  was  not  by  any  means  sober,  and  had  a  black 
eye  in  the  green  stage  61  recovery,  which  was  painted  over. 

"Tell  him  to  take  his  witness  away  directly,"  said  my  guar- 
dian to  the  elvrk,  in  extreme  disgust, '"  and  ask  him  what  he  means 
by  bringing  such  a  fellow  as  that," 

My  guardian  then  took  me  into  his  own  room,  and  while  he 
lunched,  standing,  from  a  sandwich  box  and  a  pocket-flask  of  sher- 
ry (he  seemed  to  bully  his  very  sandwich  as  he  ate  it),  informed  me 
what  'arrangements  he  had  made  for  me.  I  was  to  v:o  to  "  Bar- 
nard's Inn,"  to  young  Mr.  Pocket's  room,  where,  a  bed  had  been 
sen!  in  i\n-  my  accommodation.;  1  was  to  remain  with  young  Mr. 
Pocket  until  Monday:  on  Monday  I  was  to  go  with  him  to  bis 
fatheWs  house  on  a  visit,  that  I  might  try  how  I  liked  it.  Also  I 
was  told  what  my  allowance  was  to  be — it  was  a  very  liberal  one — 
ami  had  handed  to  me  from  one  of  my  guardian's  drawers  the 
cards  of  certain  tradesmen  with  whom  I  was  to  deal  for  all  kinds 
of  clothes,  and  such  other  things  as  L  could  in  reason  want. — 
"  Tou  will  find  your  credil  good,  Mr.  Tip,'"  said  my  guardian, 
whose  iiask  of  sherry  smcllcd  like  a  whole  caskl'ul,  as  he  hastily 
refreshed  himself;  "but  I  shall  by  this  means  be  able  to  check 
your  bills,  and  to  pull  you  up  if  I  find  you  outrunning  tho  con- 


136  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

stable.     Of  course  you'll  go  wrong  somehow,  but  that's  no  fault 
of  mine." 

■  After  L  had  pondered  a  little  over  this  jbncouraging, sentiment, 
I  asked  Mr.  daggers  if  I  could  send  for  a  coach  I  He  said  it 
was -not  worth  while,  I  was  so  near  my  destination  :  Wemmiek 
should  walk  round  with  me  if  I  pleased. 

I  then  found  that  Weuuniek  was  the  clerk  in  the  next  room. 
Another  clerk  was  rung  down  frcm  up  stairs  to  take  his  place 
while,  he  was  out,  and  I  accompanied  him  into  the  street,  after 
shaking  hands  with  my  guardian.-  We  found  a  new  set  of  people 
lingering  outside,  but  Wemmiek  made  a  way  among  them  by  say- 
decisively,  "  t  tell  you  it's  no  use  ;  he  won't  ha\ 
word  to  say  to  one  of  you;"  and. we  soon  got  clear  of  them,  and' 
went  on  side  bv  side. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


>sTi\r,  my  eyes  on  Mr.  Wemmiek  as  we  went  along,  to  see 
what  he  was  like  in  the  light  of  day.  1  found  him  to  he  a  dry  man, 
rather  short  in  stature,  with  a   square  wooden  \pres- 

sion  seemed  to  have  been  imperfectly  chipped  out  with  a  dull-edg- 
ed chisel.  There  were  some  marks  Hi  ii  that  might  have  been 
dimples,  if  the  material  had  been  softej*  and  the  instrument  finer, 
but  which',  as  it  was.  were  only  dim-.  The  chisel  had  made  three 
or  four  of  these  attempts  at  embellishment  over  his  nose,  hut  had 
given  them  up  without  an  effort  to  smooth  them  off.  I  judged 
him  to  be  a  baclv-lor  from  the  frayed  condition  of  his  linen,  and 
he  appeared  to  have  sustained  a  good  many  bereavements  ;  for 
he  wore  at  least  four  mourning  rings,  besides  a  brooch  represent- 
ing a  lady  and  a  weeping  willow  at  a  tomb  with  an  urn  on  it.  I 
noticed,  too,  that  seyeral'riflgs  and  seals  hung  at  his  watch-chain, 
as  it  he  were  quite  laden  with  remembrances  of  departed}  friends. 
He  had  glittering  eyes — small,  keen,  and  black — and  thin  white 
mottled  lips.  He  had  had  them,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  from 
forty  to  tiny  years. 

"  So  you  were  never  in  London  before  I  "  said  Mr.  Wemmiek  to 
me. 

|  lo,"  said  I. 

"i  was  new  here  once,"  said  Mr.  Wemmiek.     "Rum  to  think 
of  now ! "' 

"  You  are  well  acquainted  with  it  now  ?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS'.  137  • 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Wemmiek,  "  I  know  the  moves  of  it." 
•    "  Is  ii  a  very  wicked  place  .' "  1  asked,  mure  for  the  sake  or  say- 
ing something  than  for  information. 

"  You  may  get  Cheated,  robbed,  and  murdered  in  London.  Bui 
there  are  plenty  of  people  anywhere  who'll  do  Unit  for  you." 

"  If  there -is  bad  blood  between  you  and  theui,"  said  1.  to  soft- 
en it  off  a  little. 

"Oh  !  1  don't  know  about  bad  blood."  returned  Mr.  Wemmiek  ; 
'•'there's  not  much  bad  blood  about.  If  therms  anything  tci  be 
go1  by  if." 

"  That  makes  it  Worse 

"  Vim  think-  so  :'"  returned  Mr.  Weiiuniek.  ''Much  about. the 
same,  i  should  say." 

lie  wore  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  looked  straight 
before  him  :  walking  in  a  self-contained  way  as  if  there,  were  no- 
thing iii'the  streets  fo  claim  his  attention.  His  mouth  was  such 
a  post-office  of  a  mouth  that  he  had  a  mechanical  appearance  of 
smiling.  We  had  got  to  the  top  of  Holborn  Hill  before  I  knew 
thai  it  was  merely  a  mechanical  appearance,  and  that  he  was  not 
smiling  at  all. 

••  Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  lives?'1  I  asked 
Mr.  Wemmiek. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  nodding  in  the  direction.  "  AtHornsey,  north 
Of  London." 

•■  Is  that  far?" 

"  Well  !     Say  five  miles," 

•'  Do  you  know  him  !" 

"  Why,  you  are  a  regular  examiner !"  sajd  Mr:  Wemmiek,  look- 
ing at  me  with  an  approving  air.  "  Yes,  I  know  him.  1  know 
him!"  ' 

-  There  was  an  air  of  toleration  or  depreciation  about  his  utter- 
ance of  these  words  that,  rather  depressed  me";  and  I  was  still 
looking  sideways  at  his  bloc!;  of  a  face  in  searcji  of  any  encour- 
aging note  to  the  text,  when  he  said  here  we  w<*h-  at  Barnaid's 
Inn.  My  depression  was  not  alleviated  by  the  announcement,  for 
I  had  supposed  that  establishment  to  be" a  ho. el  kept  by  one  Bar- 
nard, to  which  the  Blue  Boar  in  our  town  was  a  mere  public-house. 
Whereas  1  now  found  Barnard  to  be  a  ghost,  and  his  inn  the 
dingiest  collection  of  shabby  buildings  ever  squeezed  together  in 
a  rank  corner  as  a  "club  for  Tom-cat's. 

We  entered  this  haven  through  a  wicket-gate,  and  we rfl  firs- 
gorged  by  an  introductory  passage  into  a  melancholy  little  square 
thai  looked  to  me  like  a  very  confined  buryii.g-grou'nd.  I  thought 
it  had  the  most  dismaftrees  in  it,  and  the  m'ostrdismal  sparrows, 
and  the  most  dismal  cats,  and  the  most  dismal  houses  (in  number 
half  a  dozen  or  so),  that  1  had  ever  seen.  1  thought  the  windows 
of  the  sets  of  chambers  into  which  these  houses  were  divided  were 


•  138  great  expectations. 

in  every  stage  of  dilapidated  blind  and  curtain,  crippled  flower- 
pot, cracked  g'ass,  dus'y  decay  and  miserable  make-shift;  while" 
To  Let  To  Let  To  Let  glared  at  me  frortli  empty  rooms,  as  if  no 
new  Wretches  ever  came  there,  and  the  vengeance  of  the  soul  of 
Barnard  were  being  slowly  appeased  by  the  gradual  suicide  of  the 
present  occupants  and  their  unholy  interment  under  the  gravel.  A 
frouzy  mourning  of  soot  and  smoke  (I  thought)  attired  this  forlorn 
creation  .of  Laniard,  and  it  had  strewn  ashes  on  its  head  and  on 
all  its  members,  and  was  undergoing  penance  and  humiliation  as 
a  mere  dust-hole.  Thus  far  the  sense  of  sight;  w'hi'e  dry-rot  and 
wet-rot  and  all  the  silent  rots  that  rot  in  neglected  roof  and  cel- 
lar, jot  ot  rat  and  mouse  and  bug  and  coaching-stables  near  at 
hand  besides,  addressed  themselves  faintly  to  my  sense  of  smell, 
and  moaned,  "Try  Barnard's  Mixture." 

So  imperfect  was  this  realization  of  the  first,  of  my  great  expec- 
tations, that  I  looked  in  dismay  at  Mr.  Wemmiek.  "Ah"!"  said 
he,  mistaking  me;  "  the  retirement  reminds  you  of  the  country. 
So  it  does  me." 

He  led  me  into' a  corner  and  conducted  me  up  a  flight  of  stairs 
— which  appeared  to  me  to  be  slowly  collapsing  into  saw-dust,  so 
that  one  of  these  days  the  upper  lodgers  would  look  out.  at  their 
doors  and.  find  themselves  without  t lie  means  of  coming  down — to 
a  set  of  chambers  on  the  top  floor.  Mr.  Pocket,  Jutv.,  was 
painted  on  the  door,  and  there  was  a  label  on  the  letter-box,  "  lit- 
turn  shortly." 

"  He  hardly  thought .you'd  come  so  soon,"  Mr.  Wemmiek  ex- 
plained!    "You  don't  want  me  any  more  I" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  I. 

"As  .1  keep  the  cash."  Mr.  Wemmiek  observed,  "we  shall 
most  likely,  meet  pretty  often.     Good-day." 

"Good  day." 

I  put  out  my  band,  and  Mr.  Wemmiek  at  first  looked  at  it  as  if 
he  thought  1  waited  something.  Then  lie  looked  at  me,  and  said, 
correcting  himself, 

"  To  be  sure  !     Yes-.     You're  in  the  habit  of  shaking  hands?" 
■  I  was  rather  confused,  thinking  it.  must  be  out  of  the  London 
fashion,  but  said  yes. 

"  I  have  got  so  out  of  it !"  said  Mr.  Wemmiek — "except  at  last. 
Very  glad,  I'm  sure,  to  make  your  acquaintance.     Good-day  !" 

When  we  had  shaken  hands  and  he  was  gone,  I  opened  the 
staircase  window,  and  had  pearly  beheaded  myself,  for  the  lines 
had  rotted  away,  and  it  came  down  like  the  guillotine.  Happily 
it  was  so  quick  that  I  had  not.  put  my  head  out.  After  this  escape 
I  was  content  1o  take  a  fuggy  view  of  the  Inn  through  the.  win- 
dow's incrusting  dirt,  and  to  stand  dolefully  looking  out,  saying 
to  myself  that  London  was  decidedly  overrated. 

Mr.  Pocket,  Junior's,  idea  of  Shortly  was  not  mine,  far  I  had 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  1  39 

nearly  maddened  myself  with  loofsing  out  for  half  an  hour,  and 
had  written  my  name  with  my  finger  several  limes  in  the  dirj  of 
every  pane  in  the  window,  before  I  heard!  footsteps  mi  tfle  stairs. 
(gradually  there  arose  before  me  the  bat,  betid,  Jrieckcloth',  waist- 
coat, trowsers,  hoots,  of  a  member  of  society  of  about  my  own 
sraftdi.flg.  lie  bad  a  paper-hag  under  each  arm,  ami  a  pottle  of 
strawberries  in  one  band,  and  was  but  of  breath. 

"Mr.  Pip?"  said  he. 

"Mr.ipocke!  I"  said  I. 

"Dear  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am  extremely  sorry  :  but  1 
knew  there  was  a  coach  from  your  part  of  the  country  at  mid-day, 
and  1  thought  you  would  come  by  that  one.  The  fact  is.  I  haw 
been  put  (in  your  account — not.  that  it  is  any  excuse — for  I  thot 
coming  from  the  country,  you  might  like  a  little  fruit  after  din- 
ner, ami  1  went  tq  Overt  Garden  Market  to  get.  it  good." 

t  a  reason  that  1  had  1  felt  as  if  my  eyes  would  start  out  of 
my  head.  I  acknowledged  his  attention  .incoherently,  and  began 
to  think  this  was  a  dream. 

•' Dear  me  !"  said  Mr.  Pocket.  Junior.     "  This  door  sticks  so." 

As  he  was  fast  making  jam  of  his  fruit  by  wrestling  with  the 
l"  while  the  paper-bags  were  tinder  his  arm,  1  begged  him  to 
allow  me  to  hold  them.  He  relinquished  them  with  an  agreeable 
smile, and  combattetl  with  the  door  as  if  it  were  a  wild  beast.  It 
yielded  so  suddenly  at  last  that  he  staggered  back  upon  me,  and  I 
s  aggered  bad!  upon  the  opposite  door,  and  we  both  laughed.  But 
still  1  felt  as  if  my  eyes  must  start  out  of  my  head,  and  as  if  this 
must  be  a  dream. 

"  Pray  come  in."  said  Mr.  Pocket,  Junior.  "  Aliow  me  to  lead 
the  way.  I  am  rather  bare  here,  but  1  hope  you'll  be  able  to 
make  out  tolerably  well  till  Monday.  My  father  thought  you 
would  get  on-  more  agreeably  through  to-morrow  with  me  than 
with  him,  and  might  like  to  take  a  walk  about  London.  I  am 
sure  1  shall  be  very  happy  to  show  London  to  you.  As  to- our 
table,  you  won't  find  that  bad!  1  hope,  for  it  will  he  supplied  from 
our  coffee-house  here,  and  (it  is  only  right,]  sho.U.'d  add)  at  ;■ 
•  expense,  such,  being  Mr.  Jaggery's  directions.  As  to  our  lodging, 
ii's  not  by  any  means  splendid,' because  1  have  my  own  bread  to 
earn,  and  my  father  hasn't  any  (hi  e  me,  and    I   shouldn't 

be  willing  to  take  it  if.be  pad.  This  is  our  siiting-room — just 
such  chairs  and  tables  and  carpet  and  so  forih.  yon  see,  as' they 
.1  spare  from  home.  You  mustn't  give  me  credit  for  the  table- 
cloth, spoons  and  casiors.  they  come, for  you  from  the  coffee-house. 
This  is  my  littlq  bedroom — rather  musty  ;  but  Laniard's  is  musty. 
This  is  your  bedroom  ;  the  furniture's  hired  for  .the  occasion,  but 
1  trust  it  will  answer  the  purpose;  if  \ou  should  want  any  thing, 
I'll  go  and  letch  it.  The  chambers  are  retired,  and  we  shall  be 
alone  together:   but  we  sha'n't  tight,  I  dare  say.      But,  dear  me.  ! 


140  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

beg  your  pardon,  you're  holding  the  fruit  all  this  time.     Pray  let 
me  take  these  bags  from  you;.     1  am  quite  ashamed." ' 

As  1  si  odd  opposite .to  Mr.  Pocket,  Junior,  de  rYering  him  the 
bags,  One,  Two,. I  saw  the  starting  appearance  come  into  ins  own 
eyes  that  I  knew  to  be  in  mine,  and  he  said,  falling  back :  . 
"  Lord  bless^  me.  you're  the  prowling  boy  !" 
"  And  you,"  said  I,  "  are  the  pale  young  gentleman  !" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  pale  young  gentleman  and  I  stood  contemplating  one  ano- 
ther in  Barnard's  Inn  until  we  both  burst  out  laughing.  "The 
idea  of  its  being  you!"  said  he.  "The  idea  of  its'  being  you/" 
said  I.  And  then  we  contemplated  one  another  afresh,  and  laugh- 
ed again.  "  Well !  "  said  the  pale  young  gentleman,  reaching  out 
his  hand  good-humoredly,  "it's  all  over  now,  I  hope,  and  it  will 
be  magnanimous  in  you  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  having  knocked 
you  about  so." 

1  derived  from  this  speech  that  Mr.  Herbert  Pocket  (for  Her- 
bert was  the  pale  young  gentleman's' name)  still  rather  confound- 
ed bis  .intention  with  his  execution.  Put  I  made  a  modest  reply, 
and  we  shook  hands  warmly. 

You  hadn't  come  into  your  good  fortune  at  that  time  ?  "  said 
Herbert  l'ocket. 

<•  No,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  he  acquiesced  ;  "  I  heard  it  had  happened  very  lately. — 
1  was  rather  on  the  look-out  for  goofi  %tune  then." 

•"Indeed?" 

"  Yes.  Miss  Havishatn  had  sent  for  me,  to  see  if  she  could 
take  a  fancy  to  me.     But  she  couldn't — at  all  events  she  didn  t." 

I  thought  it  polite  to  remark  iliat  I  was  surprised  to  hear 
that. 

"Bad  taste."  said  Herbert,  laughing,  "  but  a  fact.  Yes,  she 
had  sent  for  me  on  a  trial  visit,  and  if  I  had  come  out  of  it  suc- 
cessfully, I  suppose  I  should  .have  been  provided  for ;  perhaps  I 
should  have  been  what-you-may-called  it  to  Estella." 

"  What's  that?''  1  asked,  with  sudden  gravity. 

He  was  arranging  his  fruit  in  plates  while  we  talked,  which 
divided  his  attention,  and  was  the  cause  of  his  making  this  lapse, 
of  a  word.     "  Affianced,"  he  explained,  still  busy  with  the  fruit. — 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  141 

"  Betrothed.     Engaged.     YVhat's-his-uamed.    Any   word  of  that 
sort." 

'  low  did  you  hoar  your  disappointment  1  "  I  asked. 

••  [Voh  !"'  said  he.  "1  didn't  care  much  for  it.     She's  a  Tar- 
Miss  Ilavisliani  ?"  I  suggested. 

"I  don't  say  no  to  that,  but  I  •mean  Estella.  Thai  girl's  hard 
and  haughty  and  capricious  t(t fhe'last  degree,  and  has  been  brought 
up  by  Miss  Ilavisliani  to  wreak  vengeance  on  all  the  male  se 

"  What  rclalionjs  she  to  Miss  Ilavisliani  1  " 

"  None,"  said   lie.     ••<  Inly  adopted." 

"  Why  should  she  wreak  revenge  on  all  the  male  sex  I     What 
pge .' ' 

••  Lord.  Mr.  Pip  !  "  said  he.     "J  know?  " 

>."  said   I. 

"Dear  me!     It's.q'uite  a  story,  and  shall  be  saved  till  dinner 
nine.      And  now  lei   me  take  the  liberty   of  asking  you   a  ques- 
ow  did  you  come  there  that  (U.\  I" 

I  told  him,  and  he  was  attentive  until  I  had  finished,  and  then 
hurst  out  laughing  again,  anil  asked  life  if  1  was  sore  afterward? 
L  didn't  ask  him  fOe  was,  for  my  eonvietion  on  that  point,  was 
perfectly  established.     , 

••  Mr.  Jaggers  is  .your  guardian.  I  understand  ?  "  he  went  on. 

'•  Yes." 

"  You  know  he  'is  Miss  llavisham's  man  of  business  and  solic- 
.  and  has  her  confidence  when   nobjqdy  'else  has  !" 

This  was  bringing  me  (I  iell)  toward  dangerous  ground.     I  an- 
swered with   a  constraint   I  made  no  attempt  To  disguise,  I 
had  seen  Mr.  uagge.rs  in  Miss  Havisham's  bouse  on  the  very  day 
b'f  our  combat  other  time,  and  thai   I  beli 

he  had  no  recollection  of  haying  ever  seen  me  there. 

•■  He  was  S0( obliging  as  to  suggest  my  father  for  your  tutor,  and 
he  called  on  my  father  to  propose  it.  Of  course  he  knew  about 
my  father  from  his, connection  with  Miss  Havishai  father 

iss   llavisham's   nephew;  not' that    that    implies  -familiar  in- 
tercourse between  them,  for  he  is  a  had  courtier  and  will  nol 
piliatc  her." 

Herbert  J'ocket  had  a  frank  and  easy  way  wilh  him  that  was 
very  taking.  J  had  never  seen  anyone  then,  and  I  have  h 
seen  i.ny  one  since,  who  so  strongly  expressed  to  me,  in  every 
look  and  tone,  a  natural  incapacity  to  do  anything  secet  or  mean. 
There  was  something  wonderfully  hopeful  ahout  his  general  air, 
.and  something  that  at  jhe  same  lime  whispered  to  me  that  he 
Would  never  he  very  successful  or  rich.  I  don't  know  how  this 
was.  1  became  imbued  wilh  ihe  notion  on  that  first  occasion  be- 
fore we  sat    down   to  dinner,  hut    1   cannot  define  by  what  means. 

H*  was  still  a  palo  young  gentleman,  and  had  a  certain  con- 


148  GREAT  KXPKCTATIONS. 

i  languor  atyqijt  him  in  the  midst  ofTiis  spirits  and  hrisk- 

iiiai  did  not  seem  indicative  of  natural  strength.,    [$.e  had  nol 

a'handsome  face,   bul   it   was  better  than   handsome:    being    ex- 

v  amiable  and  clie*ef?ul.      J  lis  figure  was  a  Mttie  ungainly, 

when   my  knuckles  had  taken  such  liberties  with 

always    be  light  and   yoi  i-j. — 

■  Mr.  Trabb's  local  work  would  :efullj  of) 

niiu  rtiun  on  n  it    I   am  conscious  thai   he 

his  rathi  i    I  carried 

y  ne\ 

.1  commit 
<:   be  a  had  return.  -  I  to  our  years.     1   therefore  tqld 

him  my  small-story,  and  laid  struts  on  my  being  forbid  nuiro 

was.     1  f] 
blacksmith  in  i  ve"ry  li;- 

I   he  would    - 

•-  W 
you'll 

I  lh 

••  1  tads  like 

■  lit  of  the  )    thai   be 

fell  into  a  puiid.  or 

•  !  the  mil 

1    .ul 

have  be< 

-- 
■■  1 

. 

• 
smith."' 

••  i  should  Ml 

"  Then,  my  •  he,  turn.  door 

opened,  "hen  I  must  beg  of  you  to  take 

top  of  the  table,  L»i  '  your  providing." 

This  I  would  nol  —  -  top.  and  I  faced  him. , 

nice  little  dinner — seemed  to  me  then  a  very  Lord  May- 
or's Feast — and    it    acquired    additional  relish   from   being  eaten 
under  ihose  independent  circumstances,  with  no   old  pe 
and  with  Loudon  all  axuuiiii  u&.     XLi*  again,  was  heightened  by 


GREAT  EXPECTATION  143 

a  certain  gipsy  character  thai  set  the  banquet  off;  for  while  the 
table  was,  as  Mr.  Ptfhibleeliook  might  have  said,  tl  luxu- 

ry— hein.ir  entirely  furnished  forth   from   the  coffee-house — th( 
cunriacenl   region  of  fitting-room  wa>  parafjvelj  pasture- 

and  shift j  r:  imposing  on  the  Waiter  the  wandering 

habits  of  putting  ihc  covers  on  the  floor  (where  he  fell  over  them), 
the  melted  butter  in  the  arm-chair,  the  bread  on  the  bookshelves, 
the  cheese  in  the  coal-scuttle,  arfd  the  boiled  fowl  into  my  bed  in 
the  r.i  !  found  nine,  of,  its  parsely  and  batter  in 

a   si  '.'lion    when   I   retired    for  the  night.      All  this 

made  the  lig^/ul,  and  when   the  waiter  was  not  there  to 

i  me  m\  pleasure  was  without   alloy. 
AY  hi  in  the  dinner,  1   reminded 

Herbert  of  bis  prblmise  to  tell  me  about   Miss  Havisham. 

"  T  replied.     "  I'll  e.      Let   me  ihtro- 

dflee  the  topic,  Handel,  by  mentioning  i  hat  in  London  ii  is  notthe 
custom  to  put  the  Inure  in  the  mo  enti — and 

thai  while  ;he  fori;  is  re  i'  thai  use,  ii    is  not*  pu,1  further  in 

than  Is  necessary.      Ii   i  ly  worth*  mehtioning,  only  ii 

well  to  do  as  oilier  rally 

over-ba^nd 

otir  mouth  better  (whirb  after  aii  .  and  you  save 

a  gbod  deal  of  the  attitude  of  opening  .  on  the  pari  of  the 

elbow." 
lie  Offered  these  friendly  suggestions  in  sin  li  a  li'vely  way  i hat 

10th  laughed,  and  1  scarcely   hlu> 
•■  Now,"  he  pursue.!,  ■  Havisham.     Miss  Havi- 

sham, you  must  know,  was  a  spoiled  child.    Her  mother  died  when 
she  was  a  baby,  and  her  father  denied»her  nothing.      Her  father 
was 'a  country  gentleman  down  in  your  part  of  the  world,  and 
a  brewer.     1  don't  know  why  il  should  be'a  cfacfe  thing  to 
brewer;  but   U  is  indisputable  that  wflile.  you  cannot*  possibly  be 
eel  and  bake,  you  may  be  a.s»genteel  ,as  never  was  and  brew, 
see  it  even  da; 
"Yet    a  cenileman   may  not  keep  a  public-house;    may   he.'-' 

Not  on  any  account/'  returned  Herbert  •  " but  a  public-house 
maj  keep  a  gentleman..     Well  !  Mr.  Havisham  was  very  rich  ami 
very  proud.     So  was  his  daughter." 
,    "  Miss  Havisham  was  an  only  child  P  1  hazard" 

"Stop  a  moment,  I  am   coming  to  that.     No,  she  -Was  not  an 
child  :  ■  she  had  a  half-brother.     Her  laihcr  privately  married 
in — his  cook',  I  ra't her. think." 
"1  thought  he  was  proud,"  said  I. 

"  My  good  Handel,  so  he  was.  He  married  his  second  wif  pri- 
vately, because  he  was  proud/and  in  co'urs6*of  time  she  died.  When 
she  was  dead,  I  apprehend  he  hut  told  his  daughter  what  he  had 


144  GEE  AT  EXPECTATIONS. 

done,  and  then  the  son  became  a  part  of  the  family,  residing  in  the 
house  you  are  acquainted  with.  As  the  son  grew  a  young  man  he 
turned  out  riotous,  extravagant,  undutiful — altogether  had.  At 
last  his  father  disinherifedTnm';  but  he  softened  when  he  was  dy- 
ing, and  left  him  well  off,  though  not  nearly  so  well  off  as  Miss 
Havisham.,  Take  another  glass  of  wine,  and  excuse  my  mention- 
ing that,  society' as  a  body  does  not  expect  one  to  be  so  strictly 
conscientious  in- emptying  one's  glass  as  to  turn  it  bottom- upward 
with  the  rim  on  one's  nose:" 

I  had  been  doing  this,  in  an  excess  of  attention  to  his  recital.    I 
thanked  him  and  apologized!      He  said,  •'Not  at  all,"  and  re-' 
sumed. 

"  Miss  Havisham  was  now  an  .heiress,  and  you  may  suppose  was 
looked  after  as  a  great  match.  Her  half-brother  had  now  ample 
means  again,  but  what  with  debts  and  what  with  new  madness 
wasted  them  most  fearfully  again.  There  were  stronger  differ- 
s  between  him  and  her  than  there  had  been  between  him  and 
his  father,  audit  is  suspected  that  he  cherished  a  deep  and  mortal 
grudge  against  her,  as.  haying  influenced  the  father's  anger.  Now 
cruel  part  of  the  story — merely  breaking  off,  my  dear 
Handel,  to  remark  that  a  dinner-napkin  will  not  go  into  a  tumbler." 

Why  I  was  trying  to  pack  mine  into  my  tumbler  I  am  wholly 
unable  to  say.  1  only  know  that  I  found  myself,  with  a  persever- 
ance worthy  of  a  much  better  cause,  making  the  most  strenuous 
exertions  to  compress  it  within  those  limits.  Again  I  thanked  hini 
and  apologized,  and  again  he  said,  in  the  cheerfulest  manner,  "  IS'ot 
at,  all,  1  am  sure!"  and  resumed. 

'■'  There  appeared  upon  the  scene — say  at  the  races,  or  th  pub- 
lic balls,  or  any  where  else  you  like — a  certain  man,  who  made 
A  iss  Havisham.  I  never  saw.  him,  for  this  happened  five- 
and-lwenty  years  ago,  bVfore  you  and  I  were,  Handel,  but  I  have 
heard  my  father  mention  that  he  was  a  showy  man,' and  the  kind 
of  man  for  the  purpose.  But  that  he  was  not  to  be,  without  ignor- 
.  ance  or  prejudice,  mistaken  for  a  gentleman',  my  father  im 

severates  ;  because  it.  is  a  principle  of  his  that  no  man  who 
was  not  a  true  gentleman-  at  heart  ever  was,  since  the  world  began, 
a  true  gentleman  in  manner.  He  says  no  varnish  can  hide  the 
grain  of  the  wood ;  and  the  more  varnish  you  put  on  the  more  the 
grain  will  express  itself.  Well !  This  man  pursued  Miss  Havi- 
sham closely,  and  professed  to-be  devoted  to  her.  I  believe  she* 
had  not  shown  much  susceptibility  up  to  that  time  ;  but  all  she 
possessed  certainly  came  out  then,  and  she  passionately  loved  him. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  she  perfectly  idolized  him.  He  practiced 
oh  her  affection  in  that  systematic  way,  that  he  got  great  sums  of 
money  from  her,  and  he  induced  her  to  buy  her  brother  out  of  a 
share  in  the  brewery  (which  had  been  weakly  left  him  by  his  father) 
at  an  immense  price,  on  the  plea  that  when  no  was  her  husband  he 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  145 

must  hold  and  manage  it  all.  Your  guardian  was  not  at  that  time 
in  Miss  Havisham's  councils,  and  she  was  too  haughty  and  -too 
much  in  love  to  be  advised  by  any  one.     Her  relations  were  poor 

and  scheming,  with  the  exception  of  my  father;  he  was  poor  enough, 
but  not  time-serving  or  jealous.  The  only  independent  ,me  among 
them,  lie  warned  her  that  she  was  doing  too  much  for  this  man, 
and  was  placing  herself  too  unreservedly  in  his  pow  took 

the  first  opportunity  of  angrily  ordering  my  father  out  of  the  house, 
in  his  presence,  and  my  father  has  never  seen  her  since." 

1  thought  of  her  having  said,  "Matthew  will  come  and  see  me 
at  last  when  I  am  laid  dead  upon  that  table ;"  and  I  asked  Ber- 
ber! whether  his  father  was  so  inveterate  against  her] 

"  It's  not  that,-'  said  he,  "hut  she  charged  him  hi  fore  tier  in- 
tended husband  with  being  disappointed  in' the  hope  of  fawning 
upon  her  for  his  own  advancement,  and,  if  he  were  to  go  to  her 
now.  it  would  look  true — even  to  him — and  even  to  her  after  all. 
To  return  to  the  man,  and  make  an  end  of  him.  The  marriage 
day  was  fixed,  the  wedding  dresses  were  bought,  the  wedding  tour 
was  planned  out,  the  wedding  guests  were  invited.  The  day  came, 
but  not  the  bridegijpom.     lie  wrote  her  a  letter — " 

"  Which  she  received/'  I  struck  in,  "  when  she  was  dressing  for 
her  marriage  I     At  twenty  biiimtes  to  nine  I" 

"At  the  hour  and  minute,"  said  Herbert,  nodding.  "  at  which 
she  afterward  stopped  all  the  clocks.  What  was  in  if,  further  than 
that  ii  most,  heartlessly  broke  the  marriage  off,  I  can't  tell  you,  be- 
cause I  don't  know.  When  she  recovered  from  a  bad  illness  that 
she  had,  she  laid  the  whole  place  waste,  as  you  have  seen  it,  and 
she   has  1,1  w  r  since  looked  upon  the  light  of  day."' 

"  Is  that  all  the  story  I"   I  asked,  after  considering  it. 

••  All  1  know  of  it;  and  indeed  I  only  know  so  much  through 
piecing  it  out  for  myself;  for  my  father  always  avoids  it, and, < 
when  Miss  Havisham  invited  me  to  go  there,  told  me  no  more  of  it 
than  it  was  absolutely  requisite  I  should  understand.  Bui  I  have 
itten  one  thing.  If  has  been  supposed  that,  the  man  to  whom 
ave  her  misplaced  confidence  acted  throughout  in  concert  with 
her  half-brother;  that  it  was  a  conspiracy  between  them  ;  and  that, 
they  shared  the  profits." 

".  I  wonder  he  didn't  marry  her  and  get  all  the  property,"  said  I. 

"  He  may  have  been  married  already,  and  her  cruel  mortification- 
may  have  been  a  part  of  her  half-brother's  scheme,"  said  Herbert. 
"  Mind  !  I  don't  know  that." 

"  What  became  of  the  two  men1?"  I  asked,  after  again  consider- 
ing the  subject. 

"  They  fell  into  deeper  shame  and  degradation — if  there  can  be 
deeper — and  ruin." 

"  Are  they  alive  now  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 
10 


146  GREAT  EXPECT ATI0N6. 

"  Yon  said  just,  now  that  Estella  was  not  related  to  Miss  Havi- 
sham,  but  adopted.     "When  adopted  V 

Herbert  stfrugged  his  Shoulders.  "  There  has  always  been  an 
Estella  since  I  have  heard  of  a  Miss  Ilavisham.  i  know  no  more. 
And  now  Handel,*'  said  he,  finally  throwing  off  the  story,  as  it 
were,  "there  is  a  perfectly  open  understanding  between  us.  All 
that  1  know  about  Miss  Havishaui  you  know." 

"And  all  that  I  know,"  I  returned,  "you  kno 

"  I  fully  believe  it.  So  there  can  be  ho  competition  or  perplex- 
ity between  you  and  me.  And  as  to  the  condition  on  which  you 
hold  your  advancement  in  life — namely,  that  you  are  not  to  inquire 
or  discuss  in  whom  you  owe  it — you  may  be  very  sure  that  it  will 
never  be  encroached  upon,  or  even  approached  by  me,  or  by  any 
one  belonging  to  me.* 

In  truth,  lie  said  this  with  so  much  delicacy,  that  I  fell  the  sub- 
ject done  with,  even  (hough  I  should  be  under  his  father's  roof  for 
years  and  years  to  come.  Yet  lie  said  it  with  so  much  meaning, 
too,  that  I  felt  he  as  perfectly  understood  Miss  Havishaui  to  be 
my  benefi  i  I  understood  the  fact  myself. 

It  had  not  oocurred  to  me  before  that  he  had  led  up  to  the  th 
for  the  purpose  of  clearing  it  out  of  our  way  ;  but  we  were  so  much 
the  lighter  and  easier  for  having  broached  it,  that  I  now  perceived 
this  to  be  the  case.  We  were  very  gay  and  sociable,  and  I  asked 
hitn,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  what  he  was  I  lie  replied,  "A 
capitalist  an  insurer  of  Ships."  I  suppose  he  saw,me  glancing 
obout  the  room  in  search  of  some  tokens  of  Shipping,  or  capital, 
for  he  added,  "  In  the  City." 

I  had  grand  ideas  of  the  wealth  and  importance  of  Insurers  of 
Ships  in  the  City,  and  I  began  lo  think  with  awe  of  having  laid  a 
young  Insurer  on  hfs  back,  hlackened  his  enterprising  eye,  and  cut 
his  responsible  head  open.  But,  again,  there  came  upon  me,  for 
my  relief,  that  odtrtrnpression  that  Herbert  Pocket  would  never  be 
very  successful  or  rich. 

"  I  shall  not  rest  satisfied  with  merely  employing  my  capital  in 
insuring  ships.  I  shall  buy  up  some  good  Life  Assurance  shares, 
and  cut  into  the  Direction.  1  shall  also  do  a  little  in  the  mining 
way.  None  of  these  things  will  interfere  with  my  chartering  a 
few  thousand  tons  on  my  own  account.  I  think  I  shall  trade,"  said 
•he,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  to  the  East  Indies,  for  silks,  shawls, 
spices,  dves.  drugs,  land  precious  woods.  It's  an  interesting 
trade." 

"  And  the  profits  -are  large  ? "  said  I. 

"  Tremendous  !  "  said  he. 

I  wavered  again,  and  began  to  think  here  were  greater  expecta- 
tions than  my  own. 

"  I  think  I  shall  trade,  also,"  said  he,  putting  his  thumbs  in  his 


GREAT  EXPECTATION*.  147 

waistcoat  pockets,  "  to  the  West  Indies,  for  sugar,  tobacco,  and 
rum.     Also  to  Ceylon,  specially1  for  elephants'  tusks." 

"  You  will  want  a  good  many  ships,"  said  I. 

"  A  perfect  flee!,"  said  he. 

Quite  overpowered  by  the  magnificence  of  these  transactions, 
I  asked  him  where  the  ships  lie  insured  mostly  traded  to  at  pres- 
ent ? 

"  1  haven't  begun  insuring  yet,"  he  replied.  "I  am  looking 
about  tne." 

Somehow,  that  pursuit  seemed  more  in  keeping  with  Barnard's 
Tun.     1  said  (in  a  tone  of  conviction),  "  Ahdi  !  " 

"  Yes.     1  am  in  a  counting-house,  and  looking  about  me." 

"  Is  a  counting-house  profitable  ?"  I  asked. 

"  To — do  you  mean  to  the  young  fellow  who's  in  it  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  reply. 

"  Yes  ;  to  you." 

"  Why,  n-no  :  not  to  M6."  He  said  this  with  the  air  of  one 
carefully  reckoning  up  and  striking  a  balance.  "Not  directly  prof- 
itable. That  is,  it  doesn't  pay  me  anything,  and  I  have  to — keep 
myself." 

This  certainly  had  not  a  profitable  appearance,  and  T  shook  ray 
head  as  if  1  would  imply  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  lay  by  much 
aocunlalative  capital  from  such  a«soorce  of  income. 

"  But  the  tiling  is,''  said  Herbert  Pocket,  "that  you  look  about 
you.  "Ekafa the  grand  thing.  You  are  in  a  counting-house,  >  on 
know,  and  y,ou  look  about  you." 

it  struck  me  as  a  singular  implication  that  you  couldn't  lie  out 
of  a  odunting-bouse,  you  know,  and  look  about  you  ;  but  1  silently 
deterred  to  iiis  experience. 

"  Then  the  time  comes,"  said  Herbert,  "  when  you  see  your  open- 
ing. And  you  go  in  and  you  swoop  upon  it,  and  you  make  your 
capital,  afld  then  there  you  are  !  When  you  have  once  made  your 
capital,  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  em,  loy  it  !  " 

This  was  very  like  his  way  of  conducting  that  encounter  in  the 
leri;  very  "like.  His  manner  of  bearing  his  poverty,  too,  ex- 
actly corresponded  to  his  manner  of  bearing  that  defeat.  It  seem- 
ed to  me  that,  he  took  all  blows  and  buffets  now,  with  just  the 
same  air  as  he  had  taken  mine  then.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
nothing  around  him  but  the  simplest  necessaries,  for  everything 
that  I  remarked  upon  turned  out  to  have  been  sent  in  on  my  ac- 
count from  the  coffee-house  or  somewhere  else. 

Yet,  having  already  made  his  fortune  in  his  own  mind,  he  was  so 
unassuming  with  it  that  I  felt  quite  grateful  to  him  for  net  being 
puffed  up.  It  was  a  pleasant  addition  to  his  naturally  pleasant 
ways,  and  we  got  on  famously.  In  the  evening  we  went,  out  for  a 
walk  in  the  streets,  and  went  half-price  to  the  theatre;  and  next 
day  we  went  to  church  at  Westminister  Abbey,  and  in  the  after- 


148  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

noon  we  walked  in  the  parks ;  and  I  wondered  who  shod  all  the 
the  horses  there,  and  wished  Joe. did. 

On  a  moderate  computation,  it  was  many  months,  that  Sunday, 
since  1  had  left  Joe  and  Biddy.  The- space  interposed  between 
myself  and  them  partook  of  that  expansion,  and  our  marshes  were 
any  distance  off.  That  I  could  have  been  at  our  old  church  in  my 
old  church-going  clothes,  on  the  very  last  Sunday  that  ever  was, 
seemed  a  combination  of  impossihilii  \  raph'ical   and  social, 

solar  and  lunar,  Yet  in  1  lie  London  streets,  so  crowded  with  peo- 
ple and  so  brilliantly  lighted  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  there  were  de- 
pressing hints  of  reproaches  for  that  I  had  put  the  poor  old  kitch- 
en at  home  so  far  away  ;  and  in  the  dead  of  night  the  footsteps  of 
some  incapable  imposter  of  a  porter  mooning  about  Barnard's  Inn, 
under  pretense  of  watching  it,  fell  hollow  dri  Bay  heart. 

On  the  Monday  morning  at  a  quarter  before  nine,  Herbert  went 
be  counting-house  to  report  himself — to  look  about  him,  too,  1 
suppose — and  i  bore  him  company.  He  was  to  come  away  in  an 
hour  o%two  to  attend  me  to  Hammersmith,  and  I  was  to  wait  about 
for  i.im.  It  appeared  to  me  that  the  eggs  from  which  young  in- 
surers were  hatched  were  incubated  in  dust  and  heat,  like  the  v^^ 
of  ostriches,  judging  from  the  places  to  which  those  incipient  giants 
repaired  on  a  Mdnday  morning.  Nor  did  the  counting-house  where 
Herbert  assisted  show  in  my  eyes  as  at  all  a  good  Observatory  ; 
being  a  back  :  -or  up   a  yard,  of  a   grimy   presence  in  all 

particulars,  and  with  a  look  into  another   back  seconq  door  rather 
.•  look  out. 

1  wailed  about  until  it  was  noon,  and  I  went  upon  'Change,  Ind  1 
saw  flue)'  men  sitting-  there  under  the  bills  about  shipping,  whom  I 
tool.  al  merchants,  though  I  couldn't  understand  why  they 

should  all  lie  out  of  spirits.  When  Herbert  came,  we  went  and 
had  lunch  at  a  celebrated  house  which  I  then  quite  Generated,  but 
now  believe  to  have  been  the  most  abject  superstition  in  Europe, 
and  where  1  could  not  help  noticing*  'even  then,  that  there 
much  more  gravy  on  the  table-cloths  and  knives  and  waiters'  clothes 
than  in  the  steaks.  This  collation  disposed  of  at  a  moderate  price 
(considering  the  grease,  which  was  not  charged  fur),  we  went  back 
rnard's  Inn  and  got  my  little  portmanteau,  and  then  took 
coach  fur  Hammersmith.  We  arrived  there  at  two  or  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  had  very  little  way  to  walk  to  Mr.  Pocket's 
house.  Lifting  the  latch  of  a  gate,  we-  passed  direct  into  a  little 
garden  overlooking  the  river,  where  Mr.  Tucket's  children  were  play- 
ing about.  Ami  unless  1  deceive  myself  on  a  point  where  my  in- 
terests or  possessions  are  certainly  not  concerned,  I  saw  at  once 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pocket's  children  were  nut  growing  up  or  being 
brought  up,  but  were  tumbling  up. 

Mrs.  Pocket  was  sitting  on  a  garden  chair  under  a  tree,  reading, 
with  her  legs  upon  another  garden  chair ;  and  Mrs.  Pocket's  two 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  149 

nursemaids  were  looking  about  them  while  the  children  played. — 
'•  Mamma."  said'  Herbert,  "this  is  young  Mr.  Pip."  Upon  which 
Mrs.  Pocket;  received  me  wiih  an  appearance  of  amiable  dignity, 
and   I   thought  her  a  swmU  woman. 

••  Master  Aliek  and  Miss  Jane,"  cried  one  of  the  nurses  to  two 
of  the  children,  "  if  yon  go  a  bouncing  up  against  them  bushes 
you'll  fall  over  into  the  river  and  be  drownded.  and  what'll  your  pa 
say  then  !  " 

At  the  same  time  this  nurse  picked  up  Mrs.  Pocket's  handker- 
chief, and  said,  "If  that  don't  make  six  times  you've  dropped  it, 
Mum  !  "  Upon  which  Mrs.  Pocket  laughed,  and  said,  "Thank you, 
Flopson  ;  "  and  settling  herself  in  one  chair  only,  resumed  her 
book.  Her  countenance  immediately  assumed  a  knitted  and  intent, 
expression,  as  if  she  had  been  reading  for  a  week  ;  but  before  -she 
could  have  read  half  a  dozen  lines  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me  and 
said,  "I  hope  your  mamma  is  quite  well  ?"  This  unexpected  in- 
quiry pul  me  into  such  a  difficulty  that  1  began  saying  in  the  ab- 
surdest  way  that  if  there  had  been  any  such  person  1  had  no  doubt 
she  would  have  been  quite  well,  and  would  have  been  very  much 
obliged,  and  would  have  sent  her  compliments,  when  the  nurse 
came  to  my  rescue. 

"  Well !  "  she  cried,  picking  up  the  pocket-handkerchief,  "if  that 
don't  make  seven  times  !  What  ARE  you  a  doing  of  this  after- 
noon, Mum  >  "  Mrs.  Pocket  received  her  property  at  first  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  surprise,  as  if  she  had  n  verseen  it  before,  and 
then  with  a  laugh  of  recognition,  and  said,  "Thank  you,  Flopson," 
and  forgot  me.  ami  reading. 

I  found,  now  I  bad  leisure  to  count  them,  that,  there,  were  now 
fewer  than  six  little  Pockets  present  in  various  stages  of  tumbling 
up.  1  had  scarcely  arrived  at  the  total  when  a  seventh  was  heard, 
as  in  the  region  of  air,  wailing  dolefully. 

If  there  ain't  gaby  !"  said  Flopson,  appearing  to  think  it  most 
surprising.     "  Make  basic  up.  Millers  !  " 

Millers,  who  was  the  other  nurse,  retired  into  the  house,  and  by 
degrees  the  child's  wailing  was  hushed  and  stopped,  as  if  it  were 
a  young  ventriloquist  with  something  in  its  mouth.  Mrs.  Pocket 
read  all  the  time,  and  I  was  curious  to  know  what  the  book  could 

be. 

We  were  waiting,  I  supposed,  for  Mr.  Pocket  to  come  out  to  us ; 
at  any  rate,  we  waited  there,  and  so  I  had  an  opportunity  of  ob- 
serving the  remarkable  family  phenomenon  that  whenever  any  of 
the  children  strayed  near  Mrs.  Pocket  in  their  play,  they  always 
tripped  themselves  up  and  tumbled  over  her — always  very  much 
to  her  momentary  astonishment  and  their  own  more  enduring  la- 
mentation. I  was  at  a  loss' to  account  for  this  surprising  circum- 
stance, and  could  not  help  giving  my  mind  to  speculations  about 
it,  until  by-and-by  Millers  came  down  with  the  baby,  which  baby 


150  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

was  handed  to  Flopson,  which  Flopson  was  handing  to  Mrs.  Pock- 
et, when  she  too  went  fairly  headforemost  over  Mrs.  Pocket,  baby 
and  all,  and  was  caught  by  Herbert  and  myself. 

"  Gracious  me,  Flopson,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket,  "  every  body's  tum- 
bling !  " 

"  Gracious  you,  indeed,  Mum  !  "  returned  Flopson,  very  red  in 
the  face  ;  "  what  have  you  got  there  1 " 

"7  got  here  Flopson  'I "  asked  Mrs.  Pocket. 

"  Why,  if  it  ain't  your  footstool !  "  cried  Flopson.  "And  if  you 
keep  it  under  your  skirts  like  that,  who's  to  help  tumbling,!  Here ! 
Take  the  baby,  mum,  and  give  me  your  book." 

Mrs.  Pocket  acted  on  the  advice,  and  danced  the  infant  a  little 
in  her  lap,  while  the  other  children  played  about  it  prettily.  This 
haddasted  but  a  very  short  time,  when  Mrs.  Pocket  issued  sum- 
mary orders  that  they  were  all  to  be  taken  into  the  house  for  a 
nap.  Thus  I  made  the  second  discovery  on  that  first  occasion,  that 
the  nurture  of  the  little  Pockets  consisted  of  alternately  tumbling 
up  and  lying  down. 

Under  these  circumstances,  when  Flopson  and  Millers  had  got 
the  children  into  the  house  like  a  little  flock  of  sheep,  and  Mr.  Pock- 
et came  out  of  it  to  make  my  acquaintance,  I  was  not  much  sur- 
prised to  find  that  Mr.  Pocket  was  a  gentleman  with  a  rather  per- 
plexed expression  of  face,  and  with  his  hair  disordered  on  his 
head,  as  if  he  didn't  quite  see  his  way  to  putting  anything  straight. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Mr.  Pocket  said  he  was:vglad  to  see  me,  and  he  hoped  1  was 
not  sorry  to  see  him.  "  For  1  really  am  not,"  he  added,  with  his 
sun's  smile,  "  an  alarming  personage."  Pie  was  a  young-looking 
man,  in  spite  of  his  perplexities,  and  his  manner  seemed  quite 
natural.  I  use  the  word  natural  in  the  sense  of  its  being  unaffect- 
ed ;  there  was  something  comic  in  his  distraught  way,  as  though 
it  would  have  been  downright  ludicrous  but  for  his  own  perception 
that  it  was  very  near  being  so.  When  he  had  talked  with  me  a 
little,  he  said  to  Mrs.  Pocket,  rather  anxiously,  "Belinda,  I  hope 
you  have  welcomed  Mr.  Pip  h"  And  she  looked  up  frum  her  book, 
and  said,  "Yes."  She  then  smiled  upon  me  in  an  absent  state  of 
mind,  and  asked  me  if  I  liked  the  taste  of  orange-flower  wafer  I 
As  the  question  had  no  bearing,  near  or  remote,  on  any  foregone 
or  subsequent  transaction,  I  consider  it  to.  have  been  thrown  out, 
lilt  her  previous  approaches,  in  general  conversational  hospitality. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  151 

I  found  out  within  a  few  hours,  and  may  mention  it  at  once,  that  * 
Mrs.  Pocket-  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  certain  quite  accidental 
deceased  Knight,  who  ha  1  invented  for  himself  a  conviction  that 
his  deceased  lather  would  have  been  made  a  Paronet  but  for  some- 
body's determined  opposition,  arising  out  of  entirely  personal  mo- 
tives—  1  forget  whose,  if  I  ever  knew — the  Sovereign's,  the  Prime 
Minister's,  the  Lord  Chancellor's,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's, 
any  body's — and  hail  tacked  himself  on  the  nobles  of  the  earth 
in  right  of  this  quite  supposition  fact.  I  believe  he  had  been 
knighted  himself  for  storming  the  Knglish  grammar  at  the  point 
of  a  pen  in  a  desperate  address  engrossed  on  vellum,  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  laving  of  the  first  stone  of  some  building  or  other,  and 
handing  some  Royal  Personage  eii  er  the  trowel  or  the  mortar. — 
Be  that  as  it  may,  he  had  directed  Mrs.  Pocket  to  be  brought  up 
from  her  cradle  as  one  who  in  the  nature  of  things  must  marry  a 
title,  and  who  was  to  lie  guarded  from  the  acquisition  of  plehian 
domestic  knowledge.  So  successful  a  watch  and  ward  had  been 
established  over  the  young  lady  by  this  judicious  parent  that  she 
tiad  grown  up  highly  ornamental,  hut  perfectly  helpless  and  use- 
less. With  her  character  thus  happily  formed,  in  the  first  bloom 
of  her  youth  she  had  encountered  Mr.  Pocket,  who  was.  also  in  the 
first  bloom  of  youth,  and  not  (pule  decided  whether  to  moual 
4 he  Woolsack,  or  to  roof  himself  with  a  Mitre.  As  his  doing  the 
one  or  the  other  was  a  mere  question  of  lime,  be  and  Mr*.  Pocket 
had  taken  Time  by  the  forelock  (at  a  season  when,  to  judge  from 
its  length,  it  would  seem  to  have  wanted  cutting),  and  had  married 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  judicious  parent.  The  judicious  pa- 
rent having- nothing  to  bestow  or  wbhhold  but  his  blessing,  bad 
handsomely  settled  that  dower  upon  them  after  a  short  struggle, 
and  bad  informed  Mr.  Pocket  that  his  wife  was  "  a  treasure  for  a 
Prince."  Mf. 'Pocket  had  invested  the  Prince's  treasure  in  the 
ways  of  the  world  ewer  since,  and  it  was  supposed  to  have  brought 
in  hut  indifferent  interest.  Still  Mrs.  Pocket  was  in  general  the 
•  of  a  queer  sort  id'  respectful  pity,  because  she  had  not  mar- 
ried a  title;  while  Mr.  Pocket  was  the  object  of  a  queer  sort  of 
forgiving  reproach  because  he  had  never  got  one. 

Mr.  Pocket  took  me  into  the  house  and  showed  me  my  room, 
which  was  a  pleasant  one.  and  so  furnished  as  that  I  could  use  it 
with  comfort  for  my  own  private  sitting-room.  He  then  knocked 
doors  of  two  other  similar  rooms,  ami  introduced  me  to  their 
occupants,  by  name  Drumnde  and  Startop.  Drummle,  an  old- 
looking  young  man,  of  a  heavy  order  of  architecture,  was  whist- 
ling. Startup,  younger  in  years  and  appearance,  was  reading  and 
holding  his  head,  as  if  he  thought  himself  in  danger  of  exploding 
it  with  too  strong  a  charge  of  knowledj 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pocket  had  such  a  noticeable  air  of  being  in 
somebody  else's  hands,  that  I  wondered  who  really  was  in  posses- 


152  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

sicm  of  the  house  and  let  them  live  there,  until  I  found  this  un- 
known power  to  be  the  servants.  It  was  a  smooth  way  of  going 
on.  perhaps,  in  respect  of  saving  trouble ;  but  it  had  the  appear- 
ance of  being  expensive,  for  the  servants  felt  it  a  duty  they  owed 
to  themselves  to  lie  nice  in  their  eating  and  drinking,  and  to  keep  a 
deal  of  company  down  stairs.  They  allowed  a  very  liberal  table 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pocket;  yet  it  always  appeared  to  me  that  by  far 
the  best  part  of  the  house  to  have  boarded  in  would  have  been 
the  kitchen — always  supposing  the  boarder  capable  of  self-defense, 
for,  before  I  had  been  there  a  week,  a  neighboring  lady,  with  whom 
the  family  were  personally  unacquainted,  wrote  in  to  say  that  she 
had  seen  Millers  slapping  the  baby.  This  greatly  distressed  Mrs. 
Pocket,  who  burst  into  tears  on  receiving  the  note,  and  said  it  was 
an  extraordinary  thing  that  the  neighbors  couldn't  mind  their  own 
business. 

By  degrees  I  learned,  and  chiefly  from  Herbert,  that  Mr.  Pocket 
had  been  educated  at  Harrow  and  at  Cambridge,  where  he  had 
distinguished  himself;  but  that  when  he  had  had  the  happiness  of 
marrying  Mrs.  Pocket,  very  early  in  life,  he  had  impaired  his  pros- 
pects and  taken  up  the  calling  of  a  Grinder.  After  grinding  a 
number  of  dull  blades — of  whom  it  was  remarkable  ti.it  their  fath- 
ers, when  influential,  were  always  going  to  help  him  to  preferment, 
but  always  forgot  to  do  it  when  the  blades  had  left  the  Grindstone 
— he  had  wearied  of  that  poor  work  and  come,  to  London.  '  Here, 
after  gradually  failing  in  loftier  hopes,  he  had  "read'  with  divers 
who  had  lacked  opportunities  or  neglected  them,  and  had  refur- 
bished divers  others  for  special  occasions,  and  had  tinned  his  ac- 
quirements to  the  account  of  literary  compilation  and  correction, 
and  on  such  means,  added  to  some  very  moderate  private  resour- 
ces, srill  maintained  the  house  1  saw. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pocket' had  a  toady  neighbor — a  widow  lady  of 
that  highly  sympathetic  nature  that  she  agreed  with  everybody. 
blessed  everybody,  and  shed  smiles  and  tears  on  pvery  body  ac- 
pording  lo  circumstances.  This  lady's  name  was  Mrs.  Coder,  and 
I  had  the  honor  of  taking  her  down  to  dinner  on  the  day  of  my 
installation.  She  gave  me  to  understand  on  the  stairs  that  it  was 
a  blow  to  dear  Mrs:  Pocket  that  dear  Mr.  Pocket  should  be  under 
the  necessity  of  receiving  gentlemen  to  read  with  him.  That  did 
not  extend  to  me,  she  told  me  in  a  gush  of  love  and  confidence  (at 
that  time  I  had  known  her  something  less  than  five  minutes) ;  if 
they  were  all  like  me,  it  would  be  quite  another  thing. 

"But  dear  Mrs.  Pocket,"  said  Mrs.  Coder,  "after  his  early  dis- 
appointment (not  that  dear  Mr.  Pocket  was  to  blame  in  that),  re- 
quires-so  much  luxury  and  elegance — " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  I,  to  stop  her",  for  I  was  afraid  she  was  go- 
ing to  cry. 

"  And  she  is  of  so  aristocratic  a  disposition — "  * 


GREAT  EXPECTATION.  io3 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  said  again  with  the  same  object  as  before.. 

" — that  it  is  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Coile/,  "to  have  dear  Mr.  Pocket's 
time  and  attention  diverted  from  dear-Mrs   Pocket." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  il  might  be  harder  if  the  batcher's 
time  and  attention  were  diverted  from  dear  Mrs.  Pocket;  but  I 
said  nothing,  and  indeed  had  enough  to  do  in  keeping  a  bashful 
watch  upon  my  company  maimers. 

It  came  to  my  knowledge  through  what  passed  between  Mrs. 
Pocket  and  Drummle  while  I  Wrf£s  attentive  to  my  knife  and  fork, 
spoons,  glasses,  ;md  other  instruments  of  self-destruction,  that 
Drummle,  whose  christian  name  was  Pent  ley,  was  actually  next 
heir  but  two  to  a  baronetcy.  It  further  appeared  thai  tim  book  L 
had  seen  J\Irs.  Pocke;  reading  in  I  lie  garden  was  all  about  titles, 
and  that  she  knew  the  dale  at  which  her  grandpapa  would  have 
come  into  the  book,  if  he  ever  had  come  at  all.  Drummle  didn't 
say  much  but  in  his  limited  way  (he  struck  me  as  a  sulky  kind  of  a  fel- 
low) he  spoke  as  one  of  the  elect,  and  recognized  Mrs,  Pocke!  as  a.  wo- 
nianunda  sister.  No  one  but  themselves  and  Mrs.  ('oiler,  the  toady 
neighbor,  showed  any  interest  in  this  part  of  the  conversation,  and  it 
appeared  to  me  that  it  was  painful  to  Herbert ;  but  it  promised  to 
last  a  long  time,  when  the  page  came  in  With  the  announcement  of 
a  domestic  affliction.  It  was,  in  ctfect,  that  the  cook  had  "mislaid" 
the  beef.  To  my  unutterable  amazement,  1  now.  for  the  first  time, 
saw  Mr.  Pockel  relieve  his  mind  by  going  through  a  performance 
that  struck  me  as  very  extraordinary,  but  winch  made  no  effect  on 
any  body  else,  and  with  which    I  soon  is    familiar  as  the 

rest,  lie  laid  down  the  carving  knife  and  fork — being  engaged  in 
carving  at  the  moment — put  his  two  hands  into  his  disturbed  hair, 
and  appeared  to  make  an  extraordinary  effort  to  raise  himself  up 
by  it.  When  he  had  done  this,  and  had  not  lifted  himself  up  at  all, 
he  quietly  went  on  with  w  as  about. 

Mrs.  (Joiler  then  changed  the  subject,  and  began  to  liaiierme. — 
1  liked  it  for  a  few  moments,  but  she  flattered  me  so  very  grossly 
that  the  pleasure  was  soon  over.  She  had  a  serpentine  way  of 
coming  close  at  me  when  she  pretended  to  be  vitally  interested  in 
the  friends  and  localities  I  had  left,  which  was  altogether  snaky 
and  fork-tongned  ;  and  when  she  made  an  occasional  bounce  upon 
Startop  (who  said  very  little),  or  upon  Drummle  (who  said  less), 
I  rather  envied  them  for  being  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 
.  After  dinner  the  children  were  introduced,  and  Mrs.  Coder  made 
admiring  comments  on  their  eyes,  noses,  and  legs — a  sagacious  way 
of  improving  their  minds.  There  were  lour  lit  lie  girls  and  two 
little  boys,  besides  the  baby,  who  might  have  been  either,  and  the 
baby's  next  successor  who  was  yet  neither.  They  were  brought. 
in  by  Flopson  and  Millers,  much  as  though  (hose  two  non-com  mis- 
sioned officers  had  been  recruiting  somewhere  for  children  and  had 
enlisted  these;  while  Mrs.  Pocke)  looked  at.  the  young  Nobleathai 


154  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ought  to  have  been,  as  if  she  rather  thought  she-had  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  inspecting  them  before,  but  didn't  quite  know  what  to  make 
of  them. 

"  Here !  Give  me  your  fork,  mum,  and  take  the  baby,"  said 
Flopson.  "Don't  take  it  that  way,  or  you'll  get  it's  head  under 
the  table." 

Thus  advised,  Mrs.  Pocket  took  it  the  other  way,  and  got  its 
head  upon  the  table ;  which  was  announced  to  all  present  by  a 
prodigious  concussion. 

"  Dear,  dear  !  Give  it  me  back,  mum,"  said  Flopson ;  "  and  Miss 
Jane  come  and  dance  to  baby,  do  !  " 

One  of  the  little  girls — a  mere  mite,  who  seemed  to  have  pre- 
maturely taken  upon  herself  some  charge  of  the  others — stepped 
out  of  her  pla  e  by  me,  and  danced  to  and  from  the  baby  until  it 
left  off  crying  and  laughed.  Then  all  the  children  laughed,  and 
Mr.  Pocket  (who  in  the  meantime  had  twice  endeavored  to  lift 
himself  up  by  the  hair)  laughed,  and  we  all  laughed  and  were 
glad. 

Flopson,  by  dint  of  doubling  the  baby  at  the  joints  like  a  Dutch 
doll,  thea  got  it  safely  into  Mrs.  Pocket's  lap,  and  gave  it  the  nut- 
crackers to  play  with  ;  at  the  same  time  recommending  Mrs. 
Pocket  to  take  notice  that  the  handles  of  that  instrument  were  not 
likely  to  agree  with  its  eyes,  and  sharply  charging  Miss  Jane  to 
look' after  the  same.  Then  the  two  nurses  left  the  room,,  and  had 
a  lively  scuffle  on  the  staircase  with  a  dissipated  page  who  had' 
waited  at  dinner,  and  who  had  clearly  lost  half  his  buttons  at  the 
gaming-table. 

I  was  made  very  uneasy  in  my  mind  by  Mrs.  Pocket's*  falling 
into  a  discussion  with  Drummle  respecting  the  dates  of  two  baro- 
uetcies  while  she  ate  a  sliced  orange  steeped  in  sugar  and  wine  and 
forgetting  all  about  the  baby  on  her  lap,  who  did  most  appalling 
things- with  the  nut-crackers.  At  length  little  Jane,  perceiving  its 
young  brains  to  be  imperiled,  softly  left  her  place,  and  with  many 
small  artifices  coaxed  the  dangerous  weapon  away.  Mrs.  Pocket 
finishing  her  orange  at  about  the  same  time,  and  not  approving  of 
this,  said  to  Jane  : 

"You. naughty  child,  how  dare  you  I  Go  and  sit  down  this  in- 
stant. ! " 

"  Mamma  dear,"  lisped  the  little  girl,  "  baby  ood  have  put  hith 
eyeth  out." 

"  How  dare  you  tell  me  "so  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Pocket,  "  Go  and 
sit  down  in  your  chair  this  'moment." 

Mrs.  Pocket's  dignity  was  so  crushed  that  I  felt  quite  abashed, 
as  if  I 'myself  had  done  something  to  rouse  it. 

"  Belinda,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Pocket  from  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  "  how  can  you  be  so  unreasonable.  Jane  only  interfered  for 
the  protection  of  baby." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  155 

"  I  will  not  allow  any  body  to  interfere,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket.  "  I 
am  surprised,  Matthew,  thai  you  should  expose  me  to  the  affront 

of  interference.'" 

"Good  God !"  cried  Mr.  Pocket  in  an  outbreak  of  desperation. 

"  Are  infants  to  be  liul-crackered  into   their   tombs,  and   is  nobody 
to  save  them  V 

"I  will  not  be  interfered  with  by  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket,  with 
a  majestic  glance  at  that  innocent  little  offender.  "  1  hope  1  know 
my  poor  grandpapa's  position.     Jane,  rhdeed  !  " 

Mr.  Pocket  got  his  hands  into  his  hail  again,  and  Ibis  time  really 
did  lift  himself  some  inches   out   of  his   chair.     "Hear   this! 
helplessly  exclaimed  to  the  elements.     "  Babies  are  to  be  niitcrack- 
ered  dead,  for  people's  poor  grandpapa's  positions!  "     Then  be  let 
himself  down  again,  and  became  silent. 

We  all  looked  awkwardly  at  the  table-cloth  while  this  was  go- 
ing on.  A  pause  succeeded,  during  which  the  honest  and  irrepres- 
sible baby  made  a  series  of  leaps  and  crows  at  little  .lane,  who  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  the  only  member  of  the  family  (irrespective  of 
servants)  with  whom  it  had  any  decided  acquaintance. 

"Mr.  Drummle,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket,  "will  you  ring  for  Flopsnn  I 
Jane,  you  undutiful  little  thing,  go  and  lie  down.  Now.  baby- 
darling,  come  with   ma  !  " 

The  baby  was  the  soul  of  honor,  mid  protested  with  all  its  might. 
It  doubled  itself  up  the  wrong  way  over  Mrs.  Pocket's  arm,  ex- 
hibited a  pair  of  knitted  shoes  and  dimpled  ankles  to  the  company 
in  lieu  of  its  soft  face,  ami  was  carried  out  in  the  highest  state  of 
mutiny.  And  it  gained  its  point  after  all,  for  I  saw  it  through 
the  window  within  a  few  minutes,  being  nursed  by  little  Jane. 

It  happened  that  the  other  live  children  were  left  behind  at  the 
dinner-table,  through  Flopson's  having  some  private  engagement 
and  their  not  being  any  body  else's  business,  i  thus  became  aware 
of  the  mutual  relations  between  them  and  Mr.  Pocket,*  which 
were  exemplified  in  the  following  manner.  .Mr.  Pocket,  with  the 
normal  perplexity  of  his  face  heightened  and  his  hair  rumpled, 
looked  at  them  for  some  minutes  as  if  he  couldn't  make  out  how 
they  came  to  be  boarding  and  lodging  in  that  establishment,  and 
why  they  hadn't  been  billeted  by  Nature  on  somebody  else.  Then, 
in  a  distant  missionary  way,  he  asked  th<  HI  e.  rlain  questions — as 
why  little  Jot  had  that  hole  in  hi-  frill:  who  said.  Pa,  Flopson 
was  going  to  mend  it  when  she  had  lime — and  'how  little  Fanny 
came  by  that-  whitlow  :  who  said,  Pa,  Millers  was  going  to  poul- 
tice it  when  she  didn't  forget.  Then  he  melted  into  parental  ten- 
derness, and  gave  them  a  shillin  and  (old  them  to  go  ami 
play  ;  and  men  as  they  went  out  ie  very  strong  effort  to 
lift  himself  up  by  the  hair,  he  dismissed  the  hopeless  subject. 

In  the  evening  there  was  rowing  on  the  river.  As  Drummle  and 
Startop  had  each  a,  boat  1  resolved  to  set  up  mine,  and  to  out  them 


1 56  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

both  out.  I  was  pretty  good  at  most  exercises  in  which  country 
boys  are  adepts,  but  as  I  was  conscious  of  wanting  elegance  of 
style  for  the  Thames — not  to  say  for  other  waters — I  at  once  en- 
gaged to  place  myself  under  the  tuiiion  of  the  winner  of  a  prize- 
wherry  who  plied  at  our  stairs,  and  to  whom  I  was  introduced  by 
my  new  allies.  This  practical  authority  confused  me  very  much 
by  saying  I  had  the  arm  of  a  blacksmith.  If  he  could  have  known 
how  nearly  the  compliment  lost  him  his  pupil  I  doubt  if  he  would 
have  paid  it. 

There  was  a  supper-tray  after  we-  got  home  at  night,  and  I 
think  we  should  all  have  enjoyed  ourselves  but  for  a  rather  dis- 
agreeable domestic  occurrence.  Mrs.  Pocket  was  extremely  sweet, 
and  Mr.  Pocket  was  iu  good  spirits,  when  a  housemaid  came  in, 
and  said,  "  If  you  please,  Sir,  I  should  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Speak  to  your  master  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Pocket,  whose  dignity  was 
roused  again.  "  How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing!  Go  and 
speak  to  Flopson.     Or  speak  to  me  at  some  other  time.'' 

"Begging  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  returned  the  housemaid,  "  I 
should  wish  to  speak  at  once,  and  to  speak  to  master." 

Hereupon  Mr.  Pocket  went  out  of.  the  room,  and  we  made  the 
best  of  ourselves  until  he  came  back. 

"This  is  a  pretty  thing,  Belinda  !"  said  Mr.  Pocket,  returning 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  grief  and  despair.  "  Here's  the 
cook  lying  insensibly  drunk  on  the  kitchen  floor,  with  a  large  bundle 
of  fresh  butter  made  up  in  the  cupboard  ready  to  sell  for  grease  !" 

Mrs.  Pocket  instantly  showed  much  amiable  emotion,  and  said, 
"  This  is  that  odious  Mary  Anne's  doing  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Belinda?"  demanded  Mr.  Pocket. 

'•Mary  Anne  has  told  you,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket.  "Did  I  not 
see  her  with  my  own  eyes  and  hear  her  with  my  own  ears,  come 
into  the  room  just  now  and  ask  to  speak  to  you  1 " 

"  But  has  she  not  taken  me  down  stairs,  Belinda,"  returned  Mr. 
Pocket,  "and  shown  me  the  woman,  am!  the  bundle  too?  " 

"  And  do  you  defend  her,  Matthew,"  said  Mrs.  Pocket,  "  for 
making  mischief?  " 

Mr.  Pocket  uttered  a  dismAj  groan. 

"  Am  I,  grand-papa's  grand-daughter,  to  be  nothing  in  the  house  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Pocket,  "  Besides,  the  cook  has  always  been  a  very 
nice  respectful  woman,  and  said,  in  the  most  natural  manner,  when 
she  came  to  look  after  the  situation,  she  felt  I  was  born  to  be  a 
Duchess." 

There  was  a  sofa  where  Mr.  Pocket  stood,  and  he  dropped  upon 
it  in  the  attitude  of  the  Dying  Gladiator.  Still  in  that  attitude, 
he  said,  with  a  hollow  voice,  "  Good-night,  Mr-.  Pip,"  when  1  deemed 
it  advisable  to  go  to  bed  and  leave  him. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  157 


oiiArTEirxxiv. 

After  two  or  three  (lays,  when  I  had  established  myself  in  my 
room,  and  had  gfOjne  backward  .and  forward  Id  London  several 
times,  and  had  ordered  all  1  wauled  of  my  tradesmen,  Mr.  Pock- 
et and  1  had  a  long  talk  together'.  He  knew  more  of  my  hit,  Tid- 
ed career  than  1  knew  myself,  for  he  referred  to  Ins  having  been 
rtild  by  IVIiv Baggers  that  I  was  not.  designed  fur  any  profession, 
and  that  1  mould  he  well  enpugb  educate !  for  my  destiny  if  L 
could  "  hold  my  own  "  with  the  average  of  young  men  in  pros- 
perous circumstances.  I  acquiesced,  of  course,  knowing  nothing 
lo  the  contrary. 

He  advised  my  attending  certain  places  in  London,  for  t lie  ac- 
quisition of  Mich  mere  rudiments  as  !  wanted,  and  my  investing 
him  witli  the  functions,  of  explainer  and  director  of  all  my  studies. 
He  hoped  thai  with  intelligent  assistance  1  should  meet  with  little 
tit  discourage  me,  and  should  soon  he  able  to  dispense  with  any 
aid  hut  his.  Through  Ins  way  of  saying  this,  and  much  mot 
similar  purpose,  he  placed  himself  ofi  confidential  terms  with  me 
in  an  admirable  manner;  and  I  may  stale  at  once  that  he  was  al- 
ways so  zealous  and  honorable  in  fulfilling  his  compact  with  me, 
that  he  made  me  zealous  and  honoraMe  in  fulfilling  mine  with 
him.  If  lie  had  shown  indifference  as  a  master,  1  have  no  doubt 
1  should  have  returned  ihe  compliment  as  a  pupil;  he  gave  me 
no  such  excuse,  and  each  of  us  did  the  other  justice.  Nor  did  I 
ever  regard  him  as  Inning  anything  ludicrous  about  him — or  any- 
thing hut  what  was  serious,  honest,  and  good — in  his 'tutor  commu- 
nication with  me. 

When  these  points  were  settled,  and  so  far  carried  out  as  that 
1  hud  begun  to  work  in  earnest,  il  occurred  to  me  th.il  it'  1  could 
retain  my  bedroom  in  Barnard's  Inn,  my  life  would  he  agreeably 
varied,  while  my  manners  would  be  none  the  worse  for  Herbert's 
society.  My.  Pockel  did  not  object  lo  this  arrangement,  but  urged 
that  before  any  step  could  possibly  be  taken  in  it,  it  must  be 
submitted  to  my  guardian.  1  felt  that  his  delicacy  arose  out  of 
the  considerate  n  that  the  plan  would  save  Herbert  some  expense; 
so  Invent  off  to  kittle  I'.iitain,  and  imparted  my  wish  to  .Mr.  Jag- 
gerd 

"If  I  could  buy  the  furniture  now  hired  for  me,"  said  I,  "  and 
one  or  two  other  little  tb.il  Id   be  quite  at  home  there." 

••  &0  il  !  "  said  Mr.  Jaegers,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I  told  you 
you'd  get  on.     Wall !     How  much  do  you  want  V 


158  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  said  I  didn't  know  how  much. 

"  Come  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Jaggers.  "  How  much  1    Fifty  pounds  1" 

"  Oh,  not  nearly  so  much." 

"  Five  pound-'  (  "  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

This  was  such  a  great  fall, that  I  said  in  discomfiture,  "Oh  ! 
e  than  that." 
ioijB  than  that,  eh  ?"  retorted  Mr.  Jaggers,  lying  in  wait  for 
iih  his  hands  in   his  pockets,  his   head  on   one  side,  and  his 
eyes  nil  the  wall  behind  me  ;  "  how  much  more  1 " 

"  It  is  so  difficult  to  fix  a  sum,"  said  I,  hesitating. 

"  Clinic  !"  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  "Let's  get  at  it.  Twice-five  ; 
will  that  do  ?  Three  times  five  ;  will  that  do  ?  Four  times  BVe ; 
will  that  do  ? " 

I  said  I  thought  that  would  do  handsomely. 

"Four  limes  five  will  do  handsomely,  will  it?"  said  Mr.  Jag- 
gers, knitting  his  brows.  "  Now  what  do  you  make  of  feur  times 
five?" 

"  What  do  I  make  of  it  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Jaggers  ;  "  how  much  1  " 

"I  suppose  you  male  it  twenty  pounds."  said  I,  smiling. 

'^fcu'ver  mind  what  I  make  it,  my  friend,"  observed  Mr.  Jag- 
.  with  a  knowing  and  coiTtradictory  toss  of  his  head.     "  I  want 
to  know  what  you  make  Lfcitt- 

"  Twenty  pounds,  of  course!." 

"  Wemmiek  !"  said  Mr.  daggers,  opening  his  office-door.  "Take 
Mr.  Pip's  written  order,  and  pay  him  twenty  pounds." 

This 'strongly  marked  way  of  doing  business  made  a  strongly 
marked  impression  on  me,  and  that  not  of  an  agreeable  kind. — 
Mr.  daggers  never  laughed;  but  he  wore  great  bright  creaking 
boots,  and  in  poising  himself  on  these  boots,  with  his  large  head 
bent  down,  and  his  eyebrows  joined  together,  awaiting  an  answer, 
he  sometimes  caused  the  boot's  to  creak,  as  if  they  laughed  in  a 
dry  and  suspicious  way.  As  he  happened  to  go  out  now,  and  as 
Wemmiek  was  brisk  and  talkative,  I  said  to  Wemmiek  that  I 
hardly  knew  what  Jo  make  of  Mr.  Jaggers's  manner. 

"Tell  him  that,  and  he'll  take  it  as  a  compliment,"  answered 
Wemmiek  :  "  lie  don't  mean  that  you  should  know  what  to  make 
of  it.  Oh  !  "  for.  I  looked  surprised,  "  it's  not  personal ;  it's  pro- 
fessional :  only  professional."' 

Wemmiek  was  at  his  desk,  lunching — and  crunching — on  a  dry, 
hard  biscuit  ;  pieces  of  which  he  threw  from  time  to  time  into  his 
slit  of  a  mouth,  as  if  he  were  posting  them. 

"Always  seems  to  me,"  said  Wemmiek,  "as  if  he  had  set  a 
man-trap  and  was  watching  it,    Suddenly — click — you're  caught !" 

Without  remarking  that  man-traps  were  not  among  the  ameni- 
ties of  life,  I  said  1  supposed  he  was  very  skillful  I 

"Deep,"  said  Wemmiek,  "as  Australia."     Pointing  with  his 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  159 

pen  at  the  office  floor,  to  express  that  Australia  was  understood 
fur  the  purposes  of  the  ligure  to  he  diametrically  on  the  opposite 
spot  of  the  g  obe,  •'  U'  there  was  any  thing  deeper,"  added  Wem- 
mick, bringing  his  pen  to  paper,  "  he'd  he 

Then  1  said  I  supposed  thai  he  had  a  tine  business,  and  Wem- 
mick said  "  Ca-pi-tal !''  Then  1  asked  if  there  were  many  clerks? 
To  which  he  replied  : 

"  We  don't  ran  much  into  clerks,  because  there'  i%nly  one.Jag- 
gers,  and  [iconic  won't  have  him  at  second-hand.  There  arc  only 
four  of  us  Would  you  like  to  see  'em  I  You  are  one  of  us.  as  I 
may  say." 

1  accepted  the  office.  When  Mr.  Wemmick  had  put  all  his 
biscuit  into  the  post,  and  had  paid  me  my  money  from  a  cash-he* 
in  a  safe,  the  key  of  which  safe  he  kept  somewhere  down  his  hack, 
and  produce.;  from  his  coat-collar  like  an  iron  pigtail,  we  went  up 
stairs  The  house  was  dark  and  shabby,  and  the  greasy  shoul- 
ders that  had  left  their  mark  in  Mr.  Jaggcrs's  room  seemed  to 
have  been  shuflling  up  and  down  the  staircase  for  years.  In  the 
front  first  floor,  a  el  looked  something  between  a  publican 

and  a  rat-catcher — a  large,  pale,  puffed-,  swollen  man — was  atten- 
tively engaged  with  three  or  four  people  of  shabby  appearance. 
whom  he  treated  as  'unceremoniously  as  every  body  seemed  to  be 
treated  who  contributed  to  Mr.  Jaggcrs's  coffers.  "Getting  evi- 
dence together,"  said  Mr.  Wemmick.  as  we  came  out.  "for  the 
l'.ailey."  In  the  room  over  that,  a  lit!  e  flabby  terrier  of  a  clerk 
with  dangling  hair  (his  crop:  ing  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten 
when  he  was  a  puppy)  was  similarly  engaged  with  a  man  with 
Weak  eyes,  whom  Mr.  Wemmick  presented  to  me  as  a  smelter 
v\i:o  kept  his  pot  always  boiling,  and  would  melt  me  any  thing  I 
sed — ami  who  was  in  an  excessive  white-perspiration,  as  if  he 
been  trying  his  art  on  himself.  In  a  back  room,  a  high-shoul- 
dere'd  nan,  with  a  face-ache  tied  up  in  dirty  flannel,  who  was 
dressed  in  old  black  clothes  that  bore  the  appe  ranee  ol  having 
been  waxed,  was  stooping  over  his  work  of  making  fair  copies  of 
'he  noies  of  the  other  two  gentlemen,  for  Mr.  Jaggers's  own  use. 

This  was  all  the  establishment.  When  we  went  down  stairs 
again- Wemmick  led  me  into  my  guardian's  room,  and  said.  "This 
you've  seen  already." 

"  Pray,"  said  1,  as  the  two  odious  casts  with  the  twitchy  leer 
upon  them  caught  my  sight  again,  "whose  likenesses  are  those  (" 

••These?"  said  Wemmick.  getting  niton  a  chair,  and  blowing- 
the  dus'1  otl'the  horrible  heaiKbefore  bringing1  them  down.  "These 
are  two  celebrated  ones.  Famous  c  .ieiits  of  ours  that  go!  us  a 
world  of  credit.  This  chap  (win  yon  must  have  come  down  in 
the  night  and  been  peeping  into  the  inksland.  to  gel  this  hot  upon 
your  eyebrow,  you  old  rascal !)  murdered  his  master,  and,  consid- 
ering that  h«  wasn't;  brought  up  to  evidence,  didn't  plan  it  badly," 


•160  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Is  if  like  him  V  I  asked,  recoiling  from  the  brute,  as  Wem- 
mick  spat  upon  ^is  eyebrow  and  gave  it  a  rub  with  his  sleeve. 

"  Like  him  ?.  It's  himself,  you  know.  The  cast  was  made  in 
Newgate,  directly  afrer  he  was  takeu  down.  You  had  a  particu- 
lar fancy  for  me,  hadn't  you,  Old  Artful  V  said  Wemmick.  He 
then  explained  this  affectionate  apostrophe,  by  touching  his  brooch 
representing  the  lady  and  the  weeping  willow  at  the  tomb  with 
the  urn  upon  it,  and  saying,  "  Had  it  made  for  me,  express  !" 

••  Is  the  lady  anybody  V  said  I. 

"No,"  returned  Wemmiek.  "Only  his  game.  (You  liked 
3  our  bit  of  game,  didn't  you  ?)  No  ;  deuce  a  bit  of  a  lady  in  the 
case,  Mr.  Pip.  except  one — and  she  wasn't  of  this  slender,  lady- 
like sort,  and  you  wouldn't  have  caught  her  looking  after  this  urn 
— unless  there  was  something  to  drink  in  it."  Wemniick's  atten- 
tion being  thus  directed  to  his  brooch,  he  put  down  the  cast  and 
polished  the  brooch  with  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

"Did  that  other  creature  come  Wine  same  end?"  I  asked. 
'■  He  has  the  same  look." 

"  You're  right,"  said  Wemmick,  "it's. the  genuine  look.  Much 
as  if  one  noslril  was  caught  up  with  a  1;  rse-hair  and  a  little  fish- 
hook. Yes.  he  came  to  the  same  end  ;  quite  the  natural  end  here, 
I  assure  you.  He  forged  wills,  this  blade  did,  if  he  didn't  also  put 
the  supposed  testators  to  sleep — and  it  looked  previous  like  it. 
You  were  a  gentlemanly  Cove.  too. "'(Mr.  Wemmick  wTas  again 
apoBtrophieing),  "and  you  said  yon  could  write  Greek.  Yah, 
Bpunceable  !  What  a  liar  you  were  !  1  never  met  such  a  liar  as 
you!"  efore  putting  his  late  friend  on  his  shelf  again,  Wem- 
mick touched  the  largest  of  bis  mourning  rings,  and  said,  "  Sent 
out  to  buy  it  forme  only  the  day  before."  ,,• 

While  he  was  putting  up  the  other  cast  and  coming  down  from 
the  chair,  the  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  all  his  personal  jew- 
elry was  derived  from  like  sources.  As  he  had  shown  no  diffi- 
dence m;  the  subject,!  ventured  on  the  liberty  of  asking  him  the 
question,  when  he  stood  before  me,  dusting  his  hands. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  returned,  "  these  are  all  gifts  of  that  kind.  One 
brings  another,  you  see;  that's  the  way  of  it.  1  always  lake  'em. 
They're  curiosities.  And  they're  property.  They  may  not  be 
worth  much,  but,  after  all,  they're  property  and  portable.  It 
don't  Signify  to  you  with  your  bri  liant  look-out,  but  as  to  myself, 
my  guiding-star  always  is,  '  Get  hold  of  portable  property.'  " 

When  I  had  rendered  homage  to  this  light,  he  went  on  to  say, 
in  a  friendly  manner: 

'•  Jf  at  any  odd  time,  when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  you 
wouldn't  mind  coming  over  to  see  me  at  Walworth,  I  could  offer 
you  a  bed,  and  I  should  consider  it  an  honor.  I  have  not  much 
to  show  you  ;  but  guch  two  or  three  curiosities  as  I  have  got  you 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  *  161 

might  like  to  look  over  ;  and  I  am  fond  of  a  bit  of  garden  and  a 
summer-house." 

I  said  I  should  be  delighted  to  accept  his  hospitality. 

" Thank'ee,"  said  he ;  "then  we'll  consider  that  it's  to  come 
off,  when  convenient  to  you.  Have  you  diued  with  Mr.  Jasrgers 
yet  ?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Well,"  said  Wemmick,  "  he'll  give  you  wine,  and  £Ood  wine. 
I'll  give  you  punch,  and  not  bad  punch.  And  now  I'll  tell  you 
something.  When  you  go  to  dine  with  Mr.  Jaggers,  look  at  his 
housekeeper." 

"  Shall  I  see  something  very  uncommon  V 

"  Well,"  said  Wemmick,  "  You'll  see  a  wild  beast  tamed.  Not 
so  very  uncommon,  you'll  tell  me.  1  reply,  that  depends  on  the 
original  wildness  of  the  beast,  and  the  amount  of  taming.  It 
won't  lower  your  opinion  of  Mr.  Jaggers's  powers.  Keep  your 
eye  on  it." 

1  told  him  1  would  do  so  with  all  the  interest  and  cuiiosiiv  that 
his  preparation  awakened.  As  I  was  taking  my- departure,  he 
asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  devote  five  minutes  to  seeing  Mr. 
Jaggers  "  at  it," 

For  several  reasons,  and  not  least  because  I  didn't  clearly  know 
what  Mt,  Jaggers  would  be  found  to  be  "at,"  I  replied  in  the 
affirmative.  We  div^d  into  the  City,  and  came  up  in  a  crowded 
police-court,  where  a  blood-relation  (in  the  murderous  sense)  of 
the  deceased  with  the  fanciful  taste  in  brooches  was  standing  at. 
the  bar,  uncomfortably-  chewing  something;  while  my  guardian 
had  a  woman  under  examination  or  cross-examination — I  don't 
know  which — and  was  striking  her,  and  the  bench,  and  every 
body  present  with  awe.  If  any  body,  of  whatsoever  degree,  said 
a  word  thai  lie  didn't  approve  of,  he  instantly  required  to  have  it 
"  taken  down."  If  any  body  wouldn't  make  an  admission,  he  said, 
"  I'll  have  ii  out  of  you!"  and  if  any  body  made  an  admission,  he 
said,  "Now  I  have  got  you  !"  The  magistrates  shivered  under 
a  single  bite  of  his  finger.  Thieves  and  thief-takers  bung  in  dread 
rapture  on  iiis  words,  and  shrank  when  a  hair  of  his  eyebrows 
turned  in  their  direction.  Which  side  he  was  on  I  couldn't  make 
out,  for  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  grinding  the  whole  place  in  a  mill ; 
I  only  know  that  when  I  stole  out  on  tip-toe  he  was  not.  on  the 
side  of  the  b;mch,  for  he  was  making  the  legs  of  the  old  gentleman 
who  presided  quite  convulsive  under  the  table,  by  his  denuncia- 
tions of  his  conduct  as  the  representative  of  British  law  and  jus- 
tice in  that  chair  that  dav. 


U 


l&£  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Bentley  Drhmmle,  who  was  so  sulky  a  fellow  that  he  even 
took  np  a  book  as  if  its  writer  had  done  him  an  injury,  did  not 
take  up  an  acquaintance  in  a  more  agreeable  spirit  Heavy  in 
figure,  movement,  and  comprehension — in  the  sluggish  complex- 
inn  of  his  face,  and  in  the  large,  awkward  tongue  that  seemed  to 
loll  about  in  his  mouth  as  he  himself  lolled  about  in  a  room — he 
was  idle,  proud,  niggardly,  reserved,  and  suspicious.  lie  came  of 
rich 'people  down  in  Somersetshire  who  had  nursed  this  combina- 
tion of  qualities  until  they  made  the  discovery  that  it  was  just  of 
age  and  a  blockhead.  Thus  Bentley  Drummle  had  come  to  Mr. 
Pocket  when  he  was  a  head  taller  than  that  gentleman,  and  half  a 
dozen  heads  thicker  than  most  gentlemen. 

Startop  had  been  spoiled  by  a  weak  mother  and  kept  at  home 
when  he  ought  to  have  been  at  school ;  but  he  was  devotedly  at- 
tached to  her,  and  admired  her  beyond  measure.  He  had  a  wo- 
man's delicacy  of  feature,  and  was — ";is  you  may  see,  though  you 
never  saw  her,"  said  Herbert  to  me — exactly  like  his  mother.  It 
was  but  natural  that  I  should  take  to  him  much  more  kindly  than 
to  Drummle,  and  that  even  in  the  earliest  evening  of  our  boating 
he  and  I  should  pu'l  homeward  abreast  of  one  another,  conversing 
from  boat  to  boat;  while  Bentley  Drummle  came  up  in  our  wake 
alone,  under  the  overhanging  hanks  and  among  rushes.  lie  would 
always  creep  in  shore  like  some  uncomfortable  amphibious  crea- 
ture, even  when  the  tide  would  have  sent  him  fast  upon  his  way, 
and  I  always  think  of  him  as  coming  after  us  in  the  dark  or  by  the 
hack-water,  when  our  own  two  boats  were  breaking  the  sunset  or 
the  moonlight  in  mid-stream. 

Herbert  was  my  most  intimate  companion  and  friend.  I  pre- 
sented him  with  a  half-share  in  my  boat,  which  was  the  occasion 
of  his  often  coming  down  to  Hammersmith;  and  my  possession  of 
a  half-share  in  his  chambers  often  took  me  up  to  London.  We 
used  to  walk  between  the  two  places  at  all  hours,  and  1  have  an 
affection  for  the  road  yet  (though  it  is  not  so  pleasant  a  road  as  it 
was  then),  formed  in  the  impressibility  of  untried  youth  and  hope. 

When  1  had  been  in  Mr.  Pocket's  family  a  month  or  two  .Air. 
and  Mrs.  Camilla  turned  up.  Camilla  was  Mr.  Pocket's  sister. 
Georgiana,  whom  I  had  seen  at  Miss  Havisham's  on  the  same  oc- 
casion, also  turned  up.  She  was  a  cousin — an  indigestive  single 
woman,  who  called  her  rigidity  religion,  and  her  liver  love.  These 
people  hated  me  with  the  hatred  of  cupidity  and  disappointment. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  1G3 

As  a  matter  of  course,  they  fawned  upon  me  in  my  prosperity  with 
the  basest  meanness.  Toward  Mr.  Pocket,  as  a  sort  of  grown-up 
infant  with  no  notion  of  his  own  interests,  they  showed  the  com- 
placent forbaarsthce  I  had  heard  them  express.  Mrs.  Pocket  they 
Beld  in  contempt;  but  they  allowed  the  poor  dear  soul  to  have 
been  heavily  disappointed  in  life,  because  that  shed  a  full  reflect- 
ed light  upon  themselves. 

These  were  the  surroundings  among  which  I  settled  down,  and 
applied  myself  to  education.  I  soon  contracted  expensive  habits, 
and  began  to  spend  an  amount  of  money  that  within  a  few  short 
months  I  should  have  thought  almost  fabulous  ;  but,  through  good 
and  evil,  I  stuck  to  my  books.  There  was  no  other  merit  in  this 
than  my  having  sense  enough  to  feel  my  deficiencies.  Between 
Mr.  Pui-ket  and  Herbert  I  got  on  fast,  and  with  one  or  the  other 
always  at  my  elbow  to  give  me  the  directions  I  wanted,  and  clear 
obstructions  out  of  my  road,  I  must  have  been  as  great  a  dolt  as 
Drummle  if  I  had  done  less. 

I  had  not  seen  Mr.  Weromick  for  some  weeks,  when  T  thought 
T  would  write  him  a  note  and  propose  to  go  home  with  him  on  a 
certain  evening,  lie  replied  that  it  would  give  bin.  much  plea- 
sure, and  that  he  would  expect  me  at  the  office  at  six  o'clock. 
Thither  1  went,  and  there  I  found  him  putting  the  key  of  las  safe 
down  his  back  as  the  dock  struck. 

"  Did  you  think  of  walking  down  to  Walworth?"  said  he. 

"•Certainly,"  said  I,  "if  you  approve." 

"Very  much,"  was  Wcmmiek's  reply,  "for  I  have  had  my  legs 
under  the  desk-  all  day,  and  shall  be  glad  to  stretch  'em.  Now 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  got.  for  supper,  Mr.  Pip.  I  have  got  a 
stewed  stake — which  is  of  home  preparation — and  a  cold  I 
fowl— which  is  from  the  cook-shop.  I  think  it's  tender,  because 
the  master  of  the  shop  was  a  juryman  in  some  cases  of  ours  the 
other  day,  and  we  let  him  down  easy.  I  reminded  him  of  that 
when  1  bought  the  fowl,  and  1  said,  '  Pick  us  out  a  good  one,  old 
fellow,  because  if  we  had  chosen  to  keep  you  in  the  box  another 
day  or  two  we  could  easily  have  done  it,'  He  said  to  that,  '  Let 
me  make  you  a  present  of  the  best  fowl  in  the  shop.'  1  let  him, 
of  course.  As  far  as  it  goes,  it's  property  and  portable.  You 
don't  object  to  an  aged  parent,  I  hope  ?"     r 

I  really  though  $  he  was  still  speaking  of  the  fowl,  until  he  ad- 
ded, "  Because  I  have  got  an  aged  parent  at  my  place."  I  then 
eaid  what  politeness  required. 

"  So  you  haven't  dined  with  Mr.  Jaggers  yet?"  ho  pursued,  as 
he  walked  along. 

"Not,  yet." 

"  He  told  me  so  this  afternoon  when  he  heard  you  were  coming 
to  see  me.  I  expect  you'll  have  an  invitation  to-morrow.  He's 
going  to  ask  your  pals,  too.     Three  of  'em,  ain't  there  ?" 


164  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Although  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  counting  Drummle  as  one  of 
niy  intimate  associates,  I  said,  "  Yes." 

"Well,  he's  going  to  ask  the  whole  gang'' — I  hardly  felt  com- 
plimented by  the  word. — "and  whatever  he  gives  you,  he'll  give, 
good.  Don't  look  forward  to  variety,  but  you'll  have  excellence. 
And  there's  another  rum  thing  in  his  bouse,"  proceeded  Wem- 
niick,  after  a  moment's  pause,  as  if  the  remark  bestowed  on  the 
housekeeper  was  understood;  "he  never  lets  a  door  or  window 
be  fastened  at  night." 
"  Is  he  never  robbed  ?", 

"  That's  it,"  returned  Wemmick.  "  He  says,  and  gives  it  out 
publicly,  "  I  want  to  see  the  man  who'll  rob  me.'  Lord  bless  you, 
I  ba^e  beard  him  a  hundred  times  if  1  have  heard  him  once,  say  to 
regular  cracksmen  in  our  front  office.  '  You  know  where  I  live; 
now  no  bolt  is  ever  drawn  there;  why  don't  you  do  a  stroke  of 
business  with  rn  1  Come,  can't  I  'tempt  you?'  Not  a  man  of 
'em,  .sir,  would  be  bold  enough  to  try  it  on  for  love  or  money." 
"  They  dread  him  so  much,"  said  I. 

"Tread   him:"  said  Wemmick.      "Ah!    I   believe  you,  they 
dread  him.     Not  but  what  he's  artful,  even  in  his  defiance  -of  'em; 
silver,  Sir.     Britannia  metal  every  spoon." 
"  Si,  they  wouldn't  have  much,"  I  observed,  "even  if  they — " 
"Ah!  but  he  would  have  much,"  said  Wemmick,  cutting  me, 
short,  "  and  they  know  it.     He'd  have  their  lives,  and  the  lives  of 
scnr.es  of  'cm.     He'd  have  all  he  could  get.     And  it's  impossible 
to  say  what  be  couldn't  get,  if  he  gave  his  mind  to  it." 

1  was  falling  into  meditation  on  my  guardian's  greatness,  when 
Wemmick  remarked  : 

"  As  to  rhe  absence  of  plate,  that's  only  his  natural  depth.     A 
river's  its  natural  depth,  and  he's  his  natural  depth.     Look  at  his 
watch-chain.     That's  real  enough." 
"  "lis  very  massive,''  said  1. 

"  Massive  ."  repeated  Wemmick.  ''  1  think  so.  And  his  watch 
is  a  gold  repeater,  and  worth  a  hundred  pounds  if  it's  worth  a  pen- 
ny. Mr.  Pip  !  There  are  about  five  hundred  thieves  in  this  town 
who  know  all  about  thai  watch  :  there's  not  a  man,  a  woman,  or  a 
child  among  'em  who  wouldn't  identify  the  smallest  link  in  that 
ls  if  it  was  red-hot  if  inveigled  into  touching  it," 
Al  first  with  such  discourse,  and  afterward  with  conversation  of 
a  more  general  nature,  did  Mr.  Wemmick  and  I  beguile  the  time 
and  the  road  until  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  we  had  arrived 
in  the  district  of  Walworth. 

It  appeared  to  be  a  collection  of  back  lanes,  ditches,  and  little 
g&rdens,  and  to  present  the  aspect  of  a  mighty  and  dull  retirement. 
Weimiiick's  house  was  a  little  wooden  cottage  in  the  midst  of  plots 
of  garden,  and  the  top  of  it  was  cut  out  and  painted  like  a  battery 
mounted  with  guns. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  165 

"  3Iy  own  doing,"  said  Wemmick.     "Looks  pretty,  don't  it." 

I  highly  commended  it.  I  think  it  was  the  smallest  house  I 
ever  saw ;  with  the  queerest  Gi)thic  windows  (by  far  the  greater 
pari  of  them  sham),  and  a  Gothic  dobf,  almost  top  small  to  get 
in  at. 

"There's  a  real  flag-staff,  you  see,"  said  WemAick,  "  aud  on 
Sundays  I  run  up  a  real  (lag.  Then  look  here.  After  I  have 
crossed  this  bridge  I  hoist  it  up — so — and  cut  off  the  communica- 
tion." 

The  bridge  was  a  plank,  and  it  crossed  a  chasm  about  four  feet 
wide  and  two  deep.  But  it  was  very  pleasant  to  see  the  pride  with 
which  he  hoisted  it  up  and  made  it  fast;  smiling  as  hi'  did  so  with 
a  relish,  and  not  merely  mechanically. 

"At  nine  o'clock  every  night.  Greenwich  time,"  said  Wemmick, 
"  the  gun  tires.  There  he  is,  you  see  ;  and  when  you  hear  him  go, 
1  think  you'll  say  he's  a  StingeV 

The  piece  of  ordnance  referred  to-  was  mounted  into  a  separate 
fortress,  lightly  constructed  of  lattoe-work.  It  was  protected  from 
the  weather  by  an  ingenious  little  tarpaulin  contrivance  in  the  na- 
ture of  an  umbrella. 

"  Then,  at  the  back,"  said  Wemmick,  "out  oi'  sight,  so  as  not 
to  impede  the  idea  of  fortifications — for  it's  a  principle  with  me,  if 
yon  have  an  idea,  carry  it  out  and  keep  it  up.  I  don't  know  wheth- 
er that's  your  opinion — " 

1  said,  decidedly. 

"  At  the  back,  there's  a  pig,  and  there  are  fowls  and  rabbits  ; 
then  I  knock  together  my  own  little  farm,  you  see.  and  grow  cu- 
cumbers ;  and  you'll  judge  at  supper  what  sort  of  a  salad  1  can 
raise.  So,  Sir,"  said  Wemmick,  smiling  again,  but  rather  serious- 
ly too,  "if  you  can  suppose  the  little  place  besieged,  i:  would  hold 
out  a  devil  of  a  time  in  -point  of  provisions. 

Then  he  conducted  me  to  a.  bower  about  a  dozen  yards  off,  but 
which  was  approached  by  such  ingenious  twists  of  path  that  it 
took  quite  a  long  time  to  get  at;  and  in  this  re  real  our  "glasses 
were  already  set  forth.  Our  punch  was  cooling  in  an  ornamental 
lake,  on  whose  margin  the  bower  was  raised.  This  piece  of  water 
(with  an  island  in  the  middle  which  might  have  been  the  salad 
for  supper)  was  of  a  circular  form,  and  he  had  constructed  a  foun- 
tain in  it,  which,  when  you  set  a  little  mill  going  and  took  a  cork 
out  of  a  pipe,  played  to  that  powerful  extent  that  if  made  the 
back  of  your  hand  quite  wet. 

"  1  am  my  own  engineer,  and  my  own  carpenter,  and  my  own 
plumber,  and  my  own  gardener,  and  my  own  Jack  of  all  Trades," 
said  Wcmmick,  in  acknowledging  my  compliments.  "  Well  it's  a 
good  thing,  you  know.  It  brushes  the  Newgate  cobwebs  away, 
and  pleases  the  Aged.  You  wouldn't  mind  being  at  once  intro- 
duced to  the  Aged,  would  you  ?     It  wouldn't  put  you  out  ?" 


16ft  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  expressed -the  readiness  I  felt,  and  we  went  into  the  Castle. — 
There  we  found,  sitting  by  a  fire,  a  very  old  man  in  a  flannel  coat : 
•.•lean,  cheerful,  comfortable,  and  well  cared  for,  but  intensely  deaf. 
■  Well,  aged  parent,"  said  Wernmick,  shaking  hands  with  him 
.,   .   cordial  and  jocose  way,  "  how  are  you  ? " 
"  All  light,  John  ;  all  right;  "  replied  the  old  man. 
Here's  Mr.  Pip,  aged  parent,"  said  Wernmick,  "and  I  wish 
coukl  hear  his  name.    Nod  away  at  him,  Mr.  Pip  :  that's  what 
ne  likes.     Nod  away  at  him  like  winking !  " 

"  This  is  a  fine  place  of  my  son's,  sir,"  piped  the  old  man,  while 
i   nodded  as  hard  as  I  possibly  could.     "  This  is  a  pretty  pleas- 
ground,  sir.     This  spot  and  these  beautiful  works  upon  it  ought 
e  kept  together  by  the  Nation  after  my  son's  time,  for  the  peo- 
ple's, enjoyment." 

•'  You're  as  proud  of  it  as  Punch  ;  ain't  you,  aged  parent  V  said 
Wi  mmick,  contemplating  the  old  man  with  his  hard  face  really 
softened  ;  "there's  a  nod  for  you,"  giving  him  a  tremendous  one  ; 
"  / hire's  another  for  you,"  giving  him  a  still  more  tremendous  one  ; 
"yon  'ike  that,  don't  you?  If  you're  not  tired,  Mr.  Pip — though 
i  know  it's  tiring  to  strangers — tip  him  one  more.  You  can't 
think  how  it  pleases  him." 

1  ripped  him  several  more,  and  he  was  in  great  spirits.     WTe 
;   bestirring  himself  to  feed  the  fowls,  and  sat  down  to  our 
h   in  the  arbor;  where  Wernmick  told  me  as  he  smoked  a 
that  it  had  taken  him  a  good  many  years  to  bring  the  prOp- 
{)  to  its  present  point  of  perfection. 
it  your  own,  Mr.  Wernmick  ?" 
•'    »h,  yes,''  said  Wernmick,  "I  have  got  hold  of  it,  a  bit  at  a 
it's  a  freehold,  by  George!  " 
it,  indeed?     I  hope  Mr.  J  aggers  admires  it?  " 
'"5\'ever  seen  it,"  said  Wernmick.    "  Never  heard  of  it.    Never 
Mrn  the  Aged.     Never  heard  of  him.     No;  the  office  is  one  thing 
private  life  another.     When  I  go  into  the  office  I  leave  the 
Castle  behind  me,  and  when  I  come  into  the  Castle  I  leave  the 
office  behind  me.    If  it's  not  in  any  way  disagreeable  to  you,  you'll 
oblige  me  by  doing  the  same.     I  don  t  wish  it  professionally  spo- 
ken about." 

Of  course  I  felt  my  good  faith  to  be  involved  in  the  observance 
of  this  request.  s  The  punch  being  very  nice,  we  sat  there  drinking 
it  and  talking  until  it  was  most  nine  o'clock.  "  Getting  near  gun- 
fire," said  Wernmick  then,  as  he  laid  down  his  pipe ;  "  it's  the 
Aged's  treat." 

Proceeding  into  the  Castle  again,  we  found  the  Aged  heating 
the  poker,  with  expectant  eyes,  as  a  preliminary  to  the  performance 
of  this  great  nightly  ceremony.  Wernmick  stood  with  his  watch 
in  his  hand,  until  the  moment  was  come  for  him  to  take  the  red-hot 
poker  from  the  Aged,   and  repair  to   the  outworks.     He  took  it 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  167 

and  went  out,  and  presently  the  Stinger  went  off  with  n,  bang 
shook  the  crazy  little  box  of  a  cottage  as  if  it  must  fall  to  pieces, 
and  made  every  glass  and  tea-cup  in  it  ring.  Upon  which  the 
Aged — who  I  believe  would  have  been  Mown  out  of  Ids  arm-chair 
but  for  holding  on  by  the  elbows — cried  out,  exultingly,  " He's 
fired!  1  heerd  him  !"  and  I  nodded  at  the  old  gentleman  until 
it  is  no, figure  of  speech  to  declare  that  I  absolutely  could  not  Bee 
him. 

The  interval  between  that  time  and  supper- "Wenfjpick  devoted 
to  showing  meJiis  collection  of  curiosities.  They  were  mostly  of 
a  felonious  character;  comprising  the  pen  with  which  a  celebrated 
forgery  had  been  committed,  a  distinguished  razor  or  two,  some 
locks  of  hair,  and  several  manuscript  confessions  written  under 
condemnation — upon  which  Mr.  Wemmick  set  a  particular  value 
as  being,  to  use  his  own  words,  "every  one  of 'em  lies,  sir." — 
These  were  agreeably  dispersed  among  small  specimens  of  china 
and  glass,  various  neat  trifles  made  by  th^  proprietor  of  the  mu- 
seum, and  some  tobacco-stoppers  carved  by  the  Aged.  They  were 
all  displayed  in  that  chamber  of  the  Castle  into  which  I  bad  been 
first  inducted,  and  which  served  not  only  as  the  general  sitting- 
room,  but  as  the  kitchen  too,  if  I  might  judgeirom  a  sauce-pan 
on  the  hob,  and  a  brazen  bijou  over  the  fire-pla  ted  for  th« 

suspension  of  a  roasting-jack. 

There  was  a  neat  little  girl  in  attendance,  who  looked  after  the 
Aired  in  the  day.  When  she  had  laid  the  supper-cloth  the  bridge 
was  lowered  to  give  her  means  of  egress,  and  she  withdrew  for  the 
night.  The  supper  was  excellent;  and  though  the  Castle  was 
rat  I  km-  subject  to  dry-rot,  insomuch  that  it  tasted  like  a  bad  nut," 
and  though  the  pig  might  have  been  farther  off,  1  was  heartily 
pleased  wi  h  my  whole  entertainment.  Nor  was  there  any  draw- 
back on  my  Hi  tie  turret  bedroom  beyond,  there  being  such  a  thin 
ceiling  between  me  and  the  flag-staff  that  when  I  lay  down  on  my 
back  in  bed  it  seemed  as  il  1  had  lo  balance  tnat  pole  on  my 
forehead  all  night. 

Wemmick  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  and  I  am  afraid  1 
1  him  cleaning  my  boots.  After  that  he  fell  to  gardening, 
and  T  saw  him  from  ray  gothic  window  pretending  to  employ  the 
Aged,  and  nodding  at  him  in  a  most  devoted  manner.  Our  break- 
vas  as  good  as  the  supper,  and  at  half-past  eight  precisely 
we  started  for  Little  Britain*.  By  degrees  Wemmick  got  dryer 
and  harder  as  we  went  along,  and  his  mouth  tightened  into  a 
Dost-ofnce  again.  When  we  got  to  his  place  of  business,  and  he 
pulled  out  his  key  from  his  coat  collar,  he  looked  as  unconscious 
of  his  Walworth  property  as  if  the  Castle  and  the  drawbridge 
and  the  arbor  and  the  lake  and  the  fountain  and  the  Aged  had  all 
been  blown  into  space  together  by  the  last  discharge  of  the 
Stinger. 


168  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

It  fell  out,  as  Wemmick  had  told  me  it  would,  that  I  had  an 
early  opportunity  of  comparing  my  guardian's  establishment  with 
that  of  his  cashier  and  clerk.  My  guardian  was  in  his  room  wash- 
ing his  hands  with  his  scented  soap  when  I  went  into  the  office 
from  "Walworth,  and  he  called  me  to  him,  and  gave  me  the  invi- 
tation for  myself  and  friends  which  Wemmick  had  prepared  me  to 
receive.  "  No  ceremony,"  he  stipulated,  "and  no  dinner  dress, 
and  say  to-morrow."  I  asked  him  where  we  should  come  to  (for 
I  had  no  idea  where  he  lived,  and  I  believe  it  was  in  his  general 
objection  to  make  an*  thing  like  an  objection),  and  he  replied, 
"  Come  here,  and  I'll  Take  you  home  with  me."  I  embraced  this 
opportunity  of  remarking  that  he  washed  his  clients  off  as  if  he 
were  a  surgeon  or  a  dentist.  He  had  a  closet  in  his  room,  fitted 
up  for  the  purpose,  which  smelled  of  the  scented  soap  like  a  per- 
finmer's  shop.  It  had  an  unusually  large  jack-towel  on  a  roller 
inside  the  door,  and  he  would  wash  his  hands,  and  wipe  th'em  and 
dry  them  all  over  this  towel,  whenever  he  came  in  from  a  police- 
court  or  dismissed  a  client  from  his  room.  When  I  and  my  friends 
repaired  to  him  at  six  o'clock  ntjxt  day,  he  seemed  to  have  been 
engaged  on  a  case  of  a  darker  complexion  than  usual,  for  we 
found  him  with  his  head  butted  into  this  closet,  not  only  washing 
his  hands,  but  laving  his  face  and  gurgling  his  throat.  And  even 
when  he  had  done  all  that,  and  had  gone  all  round  the  jack-towel, 
he  took  out  his  penknife  and  scraped  the  case  out  of  his  nails  be- 
fore he  put  on  his  coat. 

There  were,  some  people  slinking  about  as  usual  when  we  pass- 
ed out  into  the  street,  who  were  evidently  very  anxious  to  S]  ta!. 
with  him  ;  but.  there  was  something  conclusive  in  the  halo  of 
scented  soap  that  encircled  his  presence%and  they  gave  it  up  for 
that  day.  As  we  walked  along  westward  he  was  recognized  ever 
and  again  by  some  face  in  the  crowd  of  the  streets,  and  whenever 
that  happened  he  talked  louder ;  but  he  never  otherwise  recog- 
nized any  body,  or  took  notice  that  any  body  recognized  him. 

He  conducted  us  to  Gerrard  Street,  Soho,  to  a  house  on  the 
south  side  of  that  street,  Rather  a  stirtely  house  of  its  kind,  but 
doleful  for  want  of  painting,  and  with  dirty  windows.  He  took 
out  his  key  and  opened  the  door,  and  we  all  went  into  a  stone 
hall,  bare,  gloomy,  and  little  used.  So,  up  a  dark  brown  staircase 
into  a  series  of  three  dark  brown  rooms  ou  the  first  floor.  There 
were  carved  garlands  on  the  paneled  walls,  and  as  he  stood  among 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  169 

them  giving  us  welcome,  I  know  what  kind  of  loops  I  thought, 
they  looked  like. 

Dinner  way  laid  in  the  besf  of  these  rooms;  the  second  was  his 
dressing-room;  the  third  his  bedroom*.     He  iold  us-that.be  held 

the  whole  house,  hut  rarely  used  more  of  it  than  we  saw.  The 
table  was  comfortably  laid — no  silver  in  the  service,  of  course — 
and  at  the  side  of  his  chair  was  a  capacious  dumb-waiter,  with  a 
variety  of  bottles  on  it,  and  four  dishes  of  fruit  for  desert.  I  no- 
ticed then,  and  throughout,  that  he  kept  every  thing  under  his 
own  band,  distributed  every  thing  himself. 

There  was  a  book-case  in  the  room,  and  I  saw,  from  the  hacks 
of  the  book?,  that  they  were  about' evidence,  criminal  law,  crimi- 
nal biography,  trials,  acts  of  parliament,  and  such  things.  The 
furniture  was  all  very  solid  and  good  lilte  his  watch  chain.  It 
bad  an  official  look,  however,  and  there  was  nothing  merely  orna- 
mental to  be  se  In  a  corner  was  a  little  table  of  papers  with 
a  shaded  lamp,  that  be  seemed  to  bring  the  office  home  with 
him  in  that  respec ;  too,  and  to  wheel  it  out  of  an  evening  and  fall 
to  work. 

As  he  had  scarcely  seen  my  three  companions  until  now — for 
lie  and  1  had  walked  together — he  stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  after 
ringing  the  bell,  and  took  a  searching  look  at  them.  To  my  sur- 
prise, he  seemed  at  once  to  be  principally  if  not  solely  interested 
in  Urummle. 

"  Pip,"  said  he,  putting  his  large  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  mo- 
ving me  to  the  window,  "I  don't,  know  one  from  the  other.  Who's 
the  spider  '." 

'•The  spider?"  said  I. 

"The  blotchy,  spanky,  sulky  fellow." 

•' That's  limit  ley  Drummle."  I  replied;  "the  one  with  the  deli- 
cate face  is  Startup. " 

Not  making  the  least,  account  of  "the  one  with  the  delicate 
face,'"  be  returned  :  ••  Bent^gy  Drummle  is  his  name,  is  it.?  Ah  ! 
I  like  tlie  look  of  that  fellow." 

He  immediately  began  to  talk  to  Drummle  ;  not  at  all  deterred 
by  his  replying  in  his  heavy  reticent   way.  but  apparently  led  on 
by  it  to   screw  discourse  forcibly  out  of  him.     I  was  lookjjDj 
the,  two  when  there  came  between  me  and  them  the  houseke 
with  the  first  dish  for  the  table. 

She  was  a  woman  of  about,  forty,  I  supposed — but  I  may  have 
thought  her  older  than  she  was,  as  if  is  the  maimer  of  youth  to  do. 
Rather  tall,  of  a  lithe,  nimble  figure,  extremely  pale,  with  large 
blue  eyes,  and  a  quantity  of  streaming  light,  hair.  Lean  no!  say 
whether  any  diseased  affection  of  the  heart  caused  her  lips  to  be 
parted  as  it  she  were  paining,  and  her  face,  to  bear  a  curious  ex- 
pression of  suddenness  and  flutter;  but  I  know  that  I  had  been  to 
see  Macbeth  at    the  theatre    a  night,  or    two  before,  aid  that  her 


170  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

face  looked  to  me  as  if  it  were  all  disturbed  by  fiery  air,  like  the 
faces  I  had  seen  rise  out  of  the  caldron 

She  set  the  dish  on,  touched  me  quietly  on  the  arm  with  a  finger 
to  notify  t hat  dinner  was  ready,  and  vanished.  We  took  our 
seats  at  the  round  table,  and  my  guardian  kept  Drummle  on  one 
side  of  him,  while  Startop  sat  on  the  other.  It  was  a  noble  dish 
of  fish  that  the  housekeeper  had  put  on  the  table,  and  we  bad  a 
joint  of  equally  choice  mutton  afterward,  and  then  some  equally 
choice  birds.  Sauces,  wines,  all  the  accessories  we  wanted,  and 
all  of  the  best,  were  given  out  by  our  host  from  his  dumb-waiter, 
and  when  they- had  made  the  circuit  of  the  table  he  always  put 
them  back  again.  Similarly,  he  dealt  us  clean  plates,  and  knives 
and  forks,  for  each  course,  and  dropped  those  just  disused  into 
two  baskets,  on  the  gnwiid,  by  bis  chair.  No  other  attendant 
than  the  housekeeper  appeared.  She  set  on  every  dish,  and  I 
a, ways  saw  ,in  her  face  a  face  rising  out  of  the  caldron.  Years 
afterward  1  made  a  dreadful  likeness  of  that  woman  by  causing  a 
face  that  had  no  other  natural  resemblance  to  it  than  it  derived 
from  flowing  light  air,  to  pass  behind  a  bowl  of  flaming  spirits  in 
a  dark  room. 

Induced  to  take  particular  notice  of  the  housekeeper,  both  by 
her  own  striking  appearance  and  by  Wemmick's  preparation,  t 
observed  that  whenever  she  was  in  the  room,  she  kept  her  eyes 
attentively  on  my  guardian,  and  that  she  would  quite  remove  her 
hands  from  any  dish  she  put  before  him,  watching  as  if  she  dread- 
ed his  calling  her  hack,  and  wanted  him  to  speak  when  she  was 
nigh,  as  if  he  had  any  thing  to  say.  1  fancied  that  I  could  detect, 
in  his  manner  a  consciousness  of  this,  and  a  purpose  of  holding 
her  in  suspense. 

Dinner  went  off  gayly,  and  although  my  guardian  seemed  to 
follow  rather  than  originate  subjects.  1  knew  that  he  somehow 
wrenched  the  weakest  part  of  our  dispositions  out  of  'us.  For 
myself,  I  found  that  1  was  expressing  my  tendency  to  lavish  ex- 
penditure,'and  to  patronize  Herbert,  and  to  boast  of  my  great 
prospects,  before  I  quite  knew  that  I  had  opened  my  eyes.  It 
was  so  with  ail  Of  us.  but  with  no  one  more  than  Drummle:  the 
development  of  whose  inclination  to  gird  in  a  grudging  and  sus- 
picious way  at  the  rest,  was  screwed  out  of  him  before  the  fish 
was  tax  en  off. 

it  was  not  then,  but  when  we  had  got  to  the  cheese,  that  our 
conversation  turned  upon  our  rowing  feats,  and  that  Drummle 
was  rallied  for  coming  up  behind  of  a  night  in  that  slow  amphibi- 
ous way  of  his.  Drummle  upon  this  informed  our  host  that  he 
much  preferred  our  loom  to  our  company,  and  that  as  to  skill  he 
was  more  than  our  master,  and  that  as  to  strength  he  could  scat- 
ter us  like  chaff.  By  some  invisible  agency  my  guardian — it 
could  have  been  no  one  else — wound  him  up  to  a  pitch  little  short 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  171 

of  ferocity  about  this  trifle;  and  he  fell  to  baring  and  spanning 
his  arm  tit  show  how  muscular  it  was,  and  we  ail  fell  lo  baring 
and  spanning  our  arms  in  a  ridiculous  manner. 

Now  the  housekeeper  was  ai  thai  time  clearing  the  table,  and 
my  guardian,  taking  no  heed  of  her,  but  with  the  side  of  his  (ace 
tamed  from  her,  was  leaning  batik  in  his  chair  biting  the  side  of 
his  forefinger,  and  showing  an  interest  in  Drummle  thai,  to  me, 
was  quite  inexplicable.  Suddenly  he  clapped  his  large  hand  on 
the  housekeeper's  as  she  stretched  it  across  the  table,  like  a  trap. 
So  suddenly  and  smartly,  that  wo  all  stopped  in  our  foolish  con- 
tention. 

"  If  you  talk  of  strength,"  said  Mr.  .Taggers.  "  I'\\  show  you  a 
wrist.     Molly,  let  them  see  your  wrist." 

Her  entrapped  hand  was  on  the  tahle,  but.  she  had  already  put 
her  other  hand  behind  her  waist.  "Master,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  with  her  eye's  attentively  and  timidly  fixed  upon  him, 
•'Don't  !" 

"  r\\  show  you  a  wrist,"  repeated  Mr.  daggers,  with  an  immov- 
able determination  to  show  it.     "  Molly,  let  them  see  your  wrist.". 

"Master,"  she  again  murmured,     s*  Please!" 

"Molly,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  not  looking  at  her,  but  obstinately 
compressing  his  lips,  and  looking  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  ro 
"  let  them  see  both  tour  wrists.     Show  them.    Come  !  " 

lie  roughly  look  his  hands  from  hers,  and  turned  that  wrist  up 
on  the  tabic.  She  brought  her  oilier  hand  from  behind  her,  and 
held  the  two  out  side  by  side,  ihe  last  wrist,  was  much  di 
ufed — deeply  scarred,  *nd  scarred  across  and  across.  When  she 
held  her  hands  out  she  took  her  eyes  from  Mv.  daggers,  and  turned 
them  watchfully  on  every  one  of  the  rest  of  US  in  succession. 

"There's  power  here,"  said  Mr.  daggers,  tracing  out  the  sin- 
ews with  his  forefinger  ^ithoul  touching  them.  "Very  few  men 
have  the  power  of  wrist  thai  this  woman  has.  It's  remarkable 
what  mere  force  of  grip  there  is  in  these  ham's.  I  have  had  oc- 
casion to  notice  ninny  hands,  but  I  never  saw  stronger  in  thai 
specfe;  man's  or  woman's,  than  these." 

While  he  said  these  words  in  a  leisure,  critical  way,  she  contin- 
ued to  look  at  every  one  .if  us  in  regular  succession  as  we  sat. — 
The  moment  he  ceased  she  looked  at  him  again.  "That'll  do,  Mol- 
ly," said  Mr.  Jaggers,  giving  her  a  slight  nod;  "you  have  been 
admired  and  can  go."  She  withdrew  her  hands  and  went  quietly 
out  of  the  room,  and  Mr.  daggers,  putting  the  decanters  on  from 
his  dum- waiter,  tilled  his  glass,  and  passed  round  the  wine. 

"A;  half-past  nine,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "we  must  break  up. — 
Pray  make  the  best  use  of  your  time.  1  am  glad  to  see  you  all. 
Mr.  Drummle,  1  drink  to  you." 

if  his  objeel  in  singling  out  Drummle  were  \o  bring  him  out 
still  more.it  perfectly  succeeded.     In  a  sulky  triumph,  Drummle 


172  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

showed  his  morose  depreciation  of  the  rest  of  us  in  a  more  and 
more  offensive  degree,  until  he  became  downright  intolerable. — 
Through  all  his  stages  Mr.  Jaggery  followed  him  with  the  same 
inexplicable  interest.  He  actually  seemed  to  serve  as  a  zest  to 
Mr.  daggers'*  wine. 

In  our  boyish  want  of  discretion  I  dare  say  we  took  too  much 
to  drink,  ami  1  know  we  talked  too  uiuch  and  too  noisily.  We 
became  particularly  hot  upon  some  boyish  sneer  of  Drummle's.  to 
the  effect  that  we  were  too  free  with  our  money.  It  led  to  my 
remarking,  with  more  zeal  than  politeness,  that  it  came  with  a 
bad  grace  from  him,  to  whom  Startup  had  lent  money  in  my  pres- 
ence bill  a  week'  or  so   before. 

"  Well,"  retorted  Drummle.  "he'll   be  paid." 

"I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  he  won't,"  said  I;  "but   it  n 
make  vou  hold  vour  tongue  about   us  and  our  money,  I  should 
think.-' 

•'  You  should  think  !'' retorted  Drummle.     "0  Lord!" 

"1  dare  say,"  I  went  on,  meaning  to  be  very  severe,  "that  you 
wouldn't  lend  money  to  any  of  us  if  we  wanted  it," 

"You  do  me  justice,"  said  Drummle.  "1  wouldn't  lend  one  of 
you  a  sixpence.     1  wouldn't,  lend  anybody  a  sixpence" 

".Rather  mean  to  burrow  under  tbosd  circumstances,  1   should 

% 

"  You  should  say  !  "  repeated   Drummle.     "Oh  Lord  !  " 

This  was  so  very  aggravating^-t he  more  especially  as  I  found 
i  if  making  no  way  against  bis  surly  obtuseness — that   I  said, 
arding  Herbert's  efforts  to  check  me: 

"  Coi  >,  Mr.  Drummle.  since  we  are  oiribo  subject,  I'll  tell  you 
what  passed  between  Herbert  here  ami  me,  when  you  borrowed 
that  money." 

'•/  don'1  want  to  know  what  passed  between  Herbert  there  and 
you,"  growled  Drummle.  And  1  think  he  added,  in  a  lower  growl, 
that  we  might  go  to  the  devil  and  shake  ourselves. 

"I'll  tell  ym;.  however,"  said  I,  "  whether  you  want  to  ki 
or  not.     We  said  that   as  you  put  it  in  your  pocket,  you  seemed 
to  be  immensely  anmsed'at  his  being  ass  as  to  lend  it." 

Drummle  laughed  out^jghr,  and  sat  laughing  in  our  faces,  with 
bis  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  round  sbooh  I  d,  plainly 

signifying  that  it  was  quite  true,  and  that  he  despised  us  as  asses 
all. 

Hereupon  Startop  took  him  in  hand,  though  with  a  much  better 
grace  than  1  bad  shown,  and  exhorted  him  to  be  a  little  more 
able.  Startop  being  a  lively,  bright  young  fellow,  and  Drummle 
leii,g  the  exact  opp<  site,  the  latter  was  always  disposed  to  n 
him  as  a  direct  personal  affront  He  now  retorted  in  a  coarse, 
lumpish  way,  and  Startop  tried  to  turn  the  discussion  aside  with 
some  small  pleasantry  that  made  us  all  laugh.      Resenting  this 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  173 


little  success  more  than  anything,  Drummle,  without  any  threat  or 
warning,  pulled  bis  bands  out  of  his  pockets,  dropped  his  round 
shoulders,  swore  an  oath,  took  up  a  large  glass,  and  would  infalli- 
bly have  ffung  it  at  his  adversary's  head,  hut  for  our  entertainer's 
dexterously  seizing  it  at  the  instant  when  it  was  raised  for  that 
purpose. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  daggers,  very  deliberately  putting  down 
the  glass',  and  hauling  out  his  gold  repeater  by  its  massive  chain, 
"1  am  sorry  to  announce  that  it  i  half-past  nine." 

On  this  hint  we  all  rose  to  depart.  Before  we  got  to  the  street- 
door  Startop  was  cheerily  calling  Prumnde  "  old  fellow,"  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened.  But  the  old  fellow  was  so  far  from  respond- 
ing that  he  would  not  even  walk  to  Hammersmith  on  the  same 
of  the  way;  so  Ilerhert  and  I,  who  remained  in  town,  saw 
them  going  down  the  street  on  opposite  sides;  Startop  leading, 
and  Prumnde  lagging  on  behind  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses, 
much  as  he  was  wont   to  follow  in  his  boat. 

As  the  door  was  not  yet  shut,  1  thought  I  would  leave  Herbert 
there  for  a  moment,  and  run  up  stairs  again  to  say  a  word  of  apol- 
ogy to  my  guardian.  I  found  him  in  his  dressing-room,  surrounded 
by  his  boots,  already  hard   at  it,  Washing  his  hands  of  us. 

1  told  hhn  that  I  had  come  up  again  to  say  how  sorry  I  was 
that  any  thing  disagreeable  should  have  occurred,  and  that  I  hop- 
ed  he  would   not    blame  me  very  much. 

"  1'ooh  !"  said  he,  sluicing  his  face,  and  speaking  through  the 
water-drops;  "  it's  nothing.  Tip.     I   like  thai  spider  though." 

He  had  turned  toward  me  now,  and  was  shaking  his  head,  and 
blowing,  and  toweling  himself. 

'•  1  am  glad  you  like  him.  sir,"  said  1 ;  "  but  I  don't." 

"  No,  no,"  my  guardian  assented  ;  "  don't  have  too  much  to  do 
with  him.  Keep  as  clear  of  him  as  may  be.  hut  I  like  the  fel- 
low, 1'ip;  he  is  one  of  the  true  sort ;  1  have  not  been  disappointed 
in  him.     Why,  if  1  were  a  fortune-teller — *' 

'king  out  of  the  towel  he  caught  my  eye. 

••  Bui  1  am  not  a  fortune-teller,"  he  said,  letting  his  head  drop 
into  a  festoon  of  towel,  and  toweling  away  at  his  two  ears.  "You 
know  what  1  am.     Good-rlight,  Pip." 

'■  I  Miod-night,  sir." 

In  about  a  month  after  that  the  Spider's  time  with  Mr.  Pocket 
was  up  for  good,  and,  to  the  great  relief  of  all  the  house  but  Mr*. 
Pocket',  he  went  home  to  the  family  hole.  He  called  me  Black- 
smith when  he  went  away,  qualified  to  be  an  indifferent  hostler  or 
a  bad  game-keeper. 


J  74  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


"My  Dear  Mr.  Pip. — T  write  this  by  request  of  Mr.  Gargery, 

fur  to  let  you  know  that  he  is  going  to  London  in  company  with 
Mr.  Wopsle,  and  would  be  glad  if  agreeable  to  be  allowed  to  see 
you.  lie  would  call  at  Barnard's  Hotel  Tuesday  morning  9  o'clock, 
when  if  not  agreeable  please  leave  word.  Your  poor  sister  is  much  the 
same  as  when  you  left.  We  talk  of  you  in  the  kitchen  every  night, 
and  wonder  what  you  are  saying  and  doing.  If  not  considered 
in  the  light  of  a  liberty,  excuse  it  for  the  love  of  poor  old  days. — 
No  more,  dear  Mr.  Pip,  from  your  ever  obliged  and  affectionate 
Servant,  Biddy. 

"  P.  S. — He  wishes  me  most  particularly  to  write  what  larks. — 
He  says  you  will  understand.  I  hope  and  do  not  doubt  it  will  be 
agreeabje  to  see  him  even  though  a  gentleman,  for  you  had  ever  a 
good  heart  and  he  is  a  worthy  .worthy  man.  I  have  read  him  all, 
excepting  only  the  last  little  sentence,  and  he  wishes  me  most  par- 
ticular to  write  again  tohat  larks." 

I  received  this  letter  by  the  post  on  Monday  morning,  and  there- 
fore ils  appointment  was  for  next  day.  Let  me  confess  exactly 
with  what  feelings  I  looked  forward  to  Joe's  coming. 

Not  with  pleasure,  though  I  was  bound  to  him  by  so  many 
ties;  no  ;  with  considerable  disturbance,  some  mortification,  and 
a  keen  sense  of  incoi  gruity.  If  I  could  have  kept  him  away  by 
paying  money,  I  ceitainly  would  have  paid  money.  My  greatest 
reassurance  was  that  he  was  coming  to  Barnard's  Inn,  not  to 
Hammersmith,  and  consequently  would  not  fall  in  Bentley 
Drummie's  way.  I  had  little  objection  to  his  being  seen  by  Her- 
bert or  his  father,  for  both  of  whom  I  had  respect;  but  I  had  the 
sharpest  sensitiveness  as  to  his  being  seen  by  Drummle,  whom  I 
held  in  contempt.  So,  throughout  lite,  our  worst  weaknesses  and 
meannesses  are  usually  committed  for  the  sake  of  the  people  whom 
we  most  despise. 

,  I  had  begun  to  be  always  decorating  the  chambers  in  some 
quite  unnecessary  and  inappropriate  way  or  other,  and  very  ex- 
pensive those  wrest'es  with  Barnard  proved  to  be.  By  this  time 
the  rooms  were  vastly  different  from  what  1  had  found  them,  and 
1  enjoyed  1he  honor  of  occupying  a  few  prominent  pages  in  the 
books  of  a  neighboring  upholsterer.  1  got  on  so  fast  of  late  that 
I  had  even  started  a  boy  in  boots — top  boots — in  bondage  and 
slavery  to  whom  I  might  have  been  said  to  pass  my  days.    For 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  176 

after  I  had  made  my  monster  (out  of  the  refuse  of  my  washer- 
woman's family),  and  had  clothed  him  with  a  blue  coat,  canary 
waistcoat,  while  cravat,  creamy  breeches,  and  the  hunts  already 
mentioned,  I  had  to  find  him  a  little  to  do  arid  a  gteal  deal  to  eat ; 
and  with  both  of  those  lmrrihle  retirements  he  haunted  my  ex- 
istence. 

This  avenging  phantom  was  ordered  to  be  on  duty  at  eight  on 
Tuesday  morning  in  the  hall  (it  was  two  feet  square,  as  charged 
for  floor-cloth),  and  Herbert  suggested  certain  things  for  break- 
fast that,  he  thought;  Joe  would  lie.  While  I  felt  sincerely 
oh  igcd  to  him  for  being  so  interested  and  considerate,  I  had  an 
odd,  half-provoked  sense  of  suspicion  upon  me  thai  if  due  had 
been  coming  to  see  him  he  wouldn't  have  been  quUe  so  brisk; 

However,  I  came  into  town  on  the  Monday  night  to  be  readj 
for  Joe,  and  I  got  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  caused  the  sit- 
ting-room and  breakfast- table  to  assume  their  most  splendid  ap- 
pearance. Unfortunately  the  morning  was  foggy,  and  an  at 
could  not  have  concealed  the  fact  that  Barnard  was  shedding 
Booty  tears  outside  the  window,  like  some  weak  giant  of  a  Sv, 

As  the  time  approached  I  should   have  liked  to  run  away,  bul 
the  Avenger,  pursuant  to  orders,  was  in  the  hall,  and  presently  I 
heard  Joe  oil  the  staircase.     1  knew  ir  was  Joe  by  his  clumsy 
ner  of  coming  up  stairs — his  state  boots  being  always  too  big 
for  him — and  by  the  time  it  took  htm   to  read  the  nam< 
other  floors  in  the  course  of  his  ascent.     When  at  last  he  stopped 
outsi.de  our  door,  I  could  hear  his  linger  tracing  over  the  painted 
letters  of  my  name,  and  I   afterward   heard    him   breathing  in  at 
the  key-hole.     Finally  he  gave  a  faint  single  rap,  and  Pepper — 
i  was  the  name  of  the  avenging  boy — announced  "Mr.  Gar- 
gery  !  "•    1  thought  he  never  would  have  done  wiping  his  feet,  and 
1    must  have  gone  out  to  lift  him  off  the  mat,  but  at  la,sl  be 
e  in. 
"  .Ice.  how  are  yon,  Joe  .''' 
•  o.  how  \RE  you.  Pip  (" 
With  his  good  honest  face  all  glowing  and  shining,  and  his  hat 
put  down  on  the  floor  .between  us,  he  i  ioth  my  hands  and 

ed  them  straight   up  and  down,  as  if  1  had  been  the  last  pa- 
tented rump. 

-hied  to  see  you,  doe.    i  >•  hat." 

:  up  with  both  hands  like  a   hirdnest  with  < 
in  it,  wo  parting  with  that  piece  of  property, 

in  standi!  ;  over  it.  in  a  most  Uncomfortable  way. 

"  Wl  ion  v  :,,,,!  tha|   ,<NVel  ed 

efolked  :"  Joe  considered  a  litl  e  before  he  din- 
red  this  .  if  to  your  king 
and  country." 

"  And  yuu,  Joe,  look  wonderfully  well." 


mu  ■  ..         <*.*  **  *.  mm 

176  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Joe,  "  I'm  ekerval  to  most.  And  your 
sister,  she's  no  worse  than  she  were.  And  Biddy,  she's  ever 
right  and  ready.  And  all  friends  is  no  backerder,  if  not  no  forard- 
er.     'Optin'  Wopsle;  he's  had  a  drop." 

All  this  time  (still  with  both  hands  taking  great  care  of  the 
birdsnest)  Joe  was  rol'ing  his  eyes  round  and  routtd  the  room, 
and  round  and  round  the  flowered  pattern  of  my  dressing-gown. 

"  Had  a  drop,  Joe?" 

"Why,  ves,"  said  Joe,  lowering  his  voice,  "  he's  left  the 
Church,  and  went  into  the  play-acting.  Which  the  play-acting 
have  likeways  brought  him  to  London  along  with  me.  And  his 
wish  were,"  said  Joe,  getting'the  birdsnest  under  his  left  arm  for 
the  moment  and  groping  in  it  for  an  egg  with  his  right;  "  if  no 
offence',  as  I  would  'and  you  that." 

I  took  what  Joe  gave  me,  and  found  it  to  be  the  crumpled 
play-bil  of  a  small  metropolitan;  theatre,  announcing  the  first  ap- 
pearance on  the  ensuing  Monday  of  "  the  celebrated  Provincial 
Amateur  of  Roscian  renown,  whose  unique  performance  in  the 
highest  tragic  walk  of  our  National  Bard  has  lately  occasioned  s© 
great  a  sensation  in  local  dramatic  circles." 

"  Were  you  at  his  performance,  Joe?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  were,"  said  Joe,  with  great  solemnity. 

"  W*as  there  a  great  sensation  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Joe,  "yes,  there  certainly  were  a  peck  of  orange- 
peel.  Partickler,  where  he  see  the  ghost,  Though  I  put  it  to 
Yourself,  Sir,  whether  it  were  calc'lated  to  keep  a  man  up  to  his 
work  with  a  good  hart,  to  be  continiwally  cutting  in  betwixt  him 
and  i  he  Ghost  with  'Amen!'  A  man  may  have  had  a  misfortun' 
and  been  in  the  Church,"  said  Joe,  lowering  his  Voice  to  an  ar- 
gumentative and  feeling  tone,  "but  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  put  him  out  at  such  a  time.  Which  I  meantersay,  if  the 
ghost  of  a  man's  own  father  can  not  be  allowed  to  bckipy  his  at- 
tention, what  can,  Sir  ?  Still  more,  when  his  mourning  'at  is  un- 
fortunately made  so  small  as  that  the  weight  of  the  black  feathers 
brings  it  off,  try  to  keep  it  on  how  you  may." 

A  ghost-seeing  effect  in  Joe"s  own  countenance  informed  me 
that,  Herbert  had  entered  the  room.  So  I  presented  Joe  to  Her- 
bert, who  held  out  bis  hand  ;  but  Joe  backed  from  it,  and  held  on 
by  the  birdsnest, 

"  Your  servant,  Sir,"  sa'd  Joe  "which  I  hope  as  you  and  Pip" 
— here  his  eye  fell  on  the  Avenger,  who  was  putting  some  eggs  on 
the  table,  and  so  plainly  denoted  an  intention  to  make  that  young 
gentleman  one  of  the  family;  that  I  frowned  it  down  and  confused 
him — "  1  meantersay,  you  two  gentlemen — which  I  hope  as  you 
get  your  elths  in  this  close  spot  1  For  the  present  may  be  a  werry 
good  inn,  according  to  London  opinions,"  said  Joe,  persuasively, 
"  and  I  believe  its  character  do  stand  i,*  bait  I  wouldn't  keep  a 


'     GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  ~        177 

pig  in  it  myself — not  in   the  case  that  I  wished  him  to  fatten 
wholesome  and  to  eat  short  with  a  me.ller  flavor  on  him." 

Having  borne  this  flattering  testimony  to  the  merits  of  our 
dwelling-place,  and  having  incidentally  shown  this  tendency  to 
call  me  "Sir,"  Joe,  being  invited  to  sit  down  to  table,  looked 
all  round  the  room  for  a  suitable  spot,  on  which  to  deposit  his  hat 
— as  if  it  were  only  ou  some  very  few  rare  substances  in  nature 
that  it  could  find  a  resting-place — and  ultimately  stood  it  on  an 
extreme  corner  of  the  chimney-piece,  from  which  it  ever  afterward 
fell  oil'  at  intervals. 

"Do  you  lake  tea.  or  coffee.  Mr.  fiargeryf"  asked  Herbert, 
who  always  presided  of  a  morning. 

"  Thankee.  Sir,"  said  doe,  stiff  from  head  to  foot,  "  I'll  take 
whichever  is  most  agreeable  to  yourself." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  coffee  .'" 

"Thankee,  Sir,*'  returned  Joe.  evidently  dispirited  by  die  pro- 
posal, "since  you  are  so  kind  as  to  put.  that  name  to  it,  I  will  not 
run  contrairy  to  your  own  opinions.  But  don't  you  never  find  it 
a  little  'eat in;: ? 

"  Say  tea.  then,"'  said. Herbert,  pouring  it  out. 

Here  Joe"s  hat  tumbled  off  the  mantle-piece,  and  he  started  and 
picked  it  up,  aud  fitted  it  to  the  same  exact  spot.  As  if  it  were 
an  absolute  point  of  good-breeding  that  it  should  tumble  off  again 
soon. 

"  When  did  you  come  to  town,  Mr.  Gargery  V 

"  Were  it  yesterday  afternoon  ?"  said  Joe,  after  ooughing  as  if 
he  had  caught  the  whooping-cough'  since  he  came.  "  No  i!  were 
not.  Yes  it  were.  Yes.  It  were  yesterday  afternoon,"  (with  an 
appearance  of  mingled  wisdom,  relief,  and  strict  impartiality). 

•'  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  London  yet?" 

"Why,  yes,  Sir,"  said  Joe,  "me  aud  Wopsle  went  off  to  look 
at  the  Bjacking  Ware'us.  But  we  didn't  find  that  it  come  up  to  its 
likeness  in  the  red  picters  at  the  shop-doors ;  which.  1  meanter- 
say,"  added  Joe,  in  explanatory  manner,  "  as  it's  drawd  too  archi- 
tect oortttooral." 

1  really  believe  Joe  would  have  prolonged  this  word  (mightily 
expceaelve  to  my  mind  of  some  architeclure*  that  I  know)  into  a 
perfecl  Chorus,  but  for  his  attention  being  providentially  at  trad- 
ed by  his  hat,  which  was  toppling.  Indeed  it  demanded  from  him 
a  constant  attention  and  a  quickness  of  eye  and  hand  very  like 
that  exacted  by  wicket-gate  keeping.  He  made  the  most  extraor- 
dinary play  with  it,  and  showed  the  greatest  skill ;  now,  rushing 
at  it  and  catching  it  neatly  as  it  dropped;  now,  merely  stopping 
it  midway,  beating  it  up,  and  humoring  it  in  various  pans  of  the 
room  and  against  a  good  deal  of  the  pattern  of  the  paper  on  the 
wall,  before  he  felt  it  safe  to  close  with  it;  finally  splashing  it  into 
the  slop-basin,  where  I  took  the  liberty  of  laying  hands  upon  it. 
IS 


17*  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

As  to  Ins  shirt-collar  and  his  coat-collar,  they  were  perplexing 
to  reflect  upon — insoluble  mysteries.  Why  should  a  man  scrape 
himself  to  111  at  extent  before  lie  could  consider  himself  full  dress- 
ed 1  Why  should  he  suppose  it  necessary  to  be  purified  by  suf- 
fering for  his  holiday  clothes  1  Then  he  fell  into  such  maccuunt- 
able  fits  of  meditation,  with  his  fork  midway  between  his  plate 
and  his  mouth  ;  had  lis  eyes  attracted  in  such  strange  directions  ; 
was  Afflicted  with  such  remarkable  coughs',  sat,  so  far  from  the 
table,  and  dropped  so  much  more  than  he  ate,  and  pretended  that 
he  hadn't  dropped  it;  that  I  was  heartily  glad  when  Herbert  left 
us  for  the  City. 

I  had  neither  the  good  sense  nor  the  good  feeling  to  know  that 
this  was  all  my  fault,  and  that  if  I  had  been'  easier  with  Joe,  Joe 
would  have  been  easier  with  me.  I  felt  impatient  of  him  and  out 
of  temper  with  him  ;  in  which  condition  he  heaped  coals  of  lire  on 
my  head. 

•'  Us  two  being  now  alone,  Sir," — began  Joe. 

"  Joe,"  1  interrupted,  pettishly,  "  how  can'  you  call  me  Sir  ?" 

Joe  looked  at  me  for  a  single  instant  with  something  faintly  like 
reproach.  Utterly  preposterous  as  his  cravat  was,  and  as  his  col- 
lars were,  I  was  conscious  of  a  sort  of  dignity  iii  the  look  too. 

"  Us  two  being  now  alone,'  resumed  Joe,  "  and  me  having  the 
intentions  and  abilities  to  stay  not  many  minutes  more,  I  will  now 
conclude — leastways  begin — to  mention  what  have  led  to  my  hav- 
ing had  the  present  honor.  For  was  it  not,"  said  Joe,  with  his 
old  air  of  lucid  exposition,  "  that  my  only  wish  were  to  be  useful 
to  you,  I  should  not  have  had  the  honor  of  breaking  'wittles  in 
the  company  and  abode  of  gentlemen." 

.1  was  so  unwilling  to  see  the  look  again  that  I  made  no  remon- 
strance against  this  tone. 

"  Well,  Sir,"  pursued  Joe,  "  this  is  how  it  were.  I  were  at  the 
Bargemen  t'other  night,  Pip  ;"  whenever  he  subsided  into  affection, 
lied  me  Pip,  and  whenever  he  relapsed  into  politeness  he  eall- 
e  Sir ;  "  when  there  come  up  in  his  shay-cart  Pumblechook. 
Which  that  same  identical,"  said  Joe,  going  down  a  new  track, 
"  do  com'o  my  'air  the  wrong  way  sometimes,  by  giving  out  tip  and 
down  town  as  it  were  him  which  ever  had  your  infant  companiona- 
tion  and  were  looked  upon  as  a  play -feller  by  yourself." 

"  Nonsense.     It  was  you,  Joe." 

"  Which  I  fully  believed  it  were,  Pip,"  said  -Joe,  slightly  toss- 
ing his  head,  "though  it  signify  little  now,  Sir.  Well,  Pip;  this 
same  identical,  which  his  manners  is  given  to  blusterous,  come  to 
me  at  the  Bargemen  (wot  a  pipe  and  a  pint  of  beer  do  give  re- 
freshment to  the  working  man.  Sir,  and  do  not  over  stimulate), 
and  his  word  were,  « Joseph,  Miss  Havisham  sue  wish  to  speak  to 
you.' " 

"  Miss  Havisham,  Jo©  f" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  179 

" '  She  wish,'  Were  Pumblechqqkis  word,  'to  speak  to  you."' 
Joe  sat  and  rolled  his  exes  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Yes,  Jo6  .'     (Jo  on,  please/' 

"  Next  day,  Sir,"  said  doe,  looking  al  me  as  if  I  were  a  long 
way  off,  ••  having  cleaned  myself,  1  go  and  I  see  Miss 

"  Miss  A..  Jo'el     Miss  Havisham  I" 

"  YYhich  1  say.  Sir,"  replied  due.  "  -Miss  A.,  or  Havisham.  Her 
expression  air  then  as  follering :  '  Mr/ Gargery.  You  air  in  cor- 
respondence with  Mr.  Tip  V  Having  had  a  letter  from,  you,  1  were 
aide  to  say  •  J  am.'  (When  1  married  your  sister,  Sir,  1  said  '  I 
will;'  and  when  1  answered  your  friend.  Tip,  I  said  'lam.) 
*  Would  you  tell  him,  then,'  said  she,  'that  which  Estella  has  come 
home  and  would  he  glad  to  see  him  :'  " 

I  felt  my  face  lire  upas  1  looked  at  due.  I  hope  one  remote 
cause  of  its  tiring  may  have  been  my  consciousness  that  if  J  had 
known  his  errand  1  should  have  given  him  mure  enouragemcni. 

".Biddy,"  pursued  doe.  "when  1  got  home  and  asked  her  fur 
tc  write  the  message  to  you,  a  little  hung  hack'.  Biddy  says,  '  I 
know  he  will  he  very  glad  to  have  it  by  word  of  mouth,  it  is  holi- 
day-time, you  want  to  see  him,  go  !'  1  have  now  concluded,  Sir," 
said  doe,  rising  from  his  chair,  "  and,  Tip.  I  wish  y  well 

and  ever  prospering  to  a  greater  and  greater  heighth.'" 

'•  But  you  are  not  going  now,  Jo 

"  Yes  I  am,"  said  doe. 

"But  you  are  coming  hack  to  dinner,  Joe  1" 

"  Xo,  1  am  not"  said  J6e. 

Our  eyes  met,  and  all  the  "  Sir"  melted  out  of  that  honest  open 
heart  as  he  gave  me  his  hand. 

"  Pip,  dear  old  chap,  life  is  made  of  ever  so  many  partings  weld- 
ed together,  as  I  may  say,  and  one  man's  a  blacksmith,  and  one's 
a  whitesmith,  and  one's  a  goldsmith,  and  one's  a  coppersmith. 
Diwisions  among  such  must  come,  and  must  be  met  as  they  come. 
If  there's  1  een  any  fault  at  all  to-day,  it's  mine.  You  and  me  is 
not  two  figures  to  be  together  in  London  ;  nor  yet  any  wheres  else 
but  what  is  private,  and  beknown,  and  understood  among  friends. 
It  ain't  that  1  am  proud,  but  that  I  want  to  be  right,  as  you  shall 
never  see  me  no  more  in  these  clothes.  I'm  wrong  in  these  clothes. 
I'm  wrong  but  of  the  forge,  the  kitchen,  or  off  th*  meshes.  You 
won't  find  half  so  much  fault  in  me  if  you  think  of  me  in  my.forge- 
dress,  with  my  hammer  in  my  hand,  or  even  my  pipe.  You  won't 
find  half  so  much  fault  in  me  if,  supposing  as  you  should  ever  wish 
to  see  me.  you  come  and  put  your  head  in  at  the  forge-win  low  and 
see  Joe  the  blacksmith  there  at  the  old  anvil,  in  the  old  burned 
apron,  at  the  old  work,  as  he  used  to  be  when  he  first  carried  you 
about.  I'm  awful  dull,  but  1  hope  I've  beat  out  something  nigh 
the  rights  of  this  at  last.  And  so  God  bless  you,  dear  old  Pip; 
old  ohap,  Quo  bless  you  !" 


180  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

I  had  not  been  mistaken  in  my  fancy  that  there  was  a  simple 
dignity  in  him.  The  fashion  of  his  dress  could  no  more  come  in 
its  way  when  he  spoke  these  words  than  it  could  come  in  its  way 
in  heaven.  He  touched  me  gently  on  the  forehead  and  went  out. 
As  soon  as  I  could  recover  myself  sufficiently  I  ran  out  after  him 
and  looked  for  him  in  the  neigh  boring  streets ;  but  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

It  was  clear  that  I  must  repair  to  our  town  next  day,  and  in 
the  first  flow  of  my  repentance  it  was  equally  clear  that  I  must 
slay  at  Joe's.  But  when  I  had  secured  my  box-place  by  to-mor- 
row's coach  and  had  been  down  to  Mr.  Pocket's  and  back,  I  was 
not  by  any  means  convinced  on  the  last  point,  and  began  to  Invent 
reasons  and  make  excuses  for  putting  up  at  the  Blue  Boar.  I 
should  be  an  inconvenience  at  Joe's  ;  I  was  not  expected,  and  my 
bed  would  not  be  ready  ;  I  should  be  too  far  from  Miss  Havi- 
sham'o,  and  she  was  xacting  and  mightn't  like  it.  All  other 
swindlers  upon  earth  are  nothing  to  the  self-swindlers,  and  with 
such  pretences  did  1  cheat  myself.  Surely  a  curious  thing,  That 
I  should  innocently  take  a  bad  half-crown  of  somebody  else's  man- 
ufacture is  reasonable  enough  ;  but  that  I  should  knowingly  reck- 
on the  spurious  coin  of  my»own  make  as  good  money!  An  oblig- 
ing stranger,  under  pretence  of  compactly  folding  up  my  bank-notes 
for  security's  sake,  abstracts  the  notes  and  gives  me  nut-shells; 
but  what  is  his  sleight  of  hand  to  mine,  when  I  fold  up  my  own 
nut-shells  and  pass  them  on  myself  as  notes  ! 

Having  settled  that  I  must  go  to  the  Blue  Boar,  my  mind  was 
much  disturbed  by  indecision  whether  or  no  to  take  the  Avenger. 
It  was  tempting  to  think  of  that  expensive  Mercenary  airing  his 
boots  in  the  arch-way  of  the  Blue  Boar's  posting-yard  ;  it  was  al- 
most solemn  to  imagine  him  casually  produced  in  the  tailor's  shop 
and  confounding  the  disrespectful  senses  of  Trabb's  boy.  On  the 
other  hand,  Trabb's  boy  might  worm  himself  into  his  intimacy  and 
tell  him  things ;  or,  reckless  and  desperate  wretch  as  I  knew  he 
could  be,  might  hoot  him  in  the  High  Street,  My  patroness,  too, 
mighi  hear  of  him,  and  not  approve.  On  the  whole,  I  resolved 
to  leave  the  Avenger  behind. 

It  was  the  afternoon  coach  by  which  I  had  taken  my  place,  and, 
as  winter  had  now  come  round,  I  should  not  arrive  at  my  desti- 
nation until  two  or  three  hours  after  dark.  Our  time  of  starting 
from  the  Gross  Keys  wa§  two  o'clock.      I  arrived  on  the  ground 


GREAT  EXPECTATION?.  181 

with  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  spare,  attended  hy  the  Avenger — if  1 
may  connect  that  expression  with  one  who  never  attended  on  me 
if  he  could  possibly  help  ii. 

At  that  time  it  was  customary  to  carry  convicts  down  to  the 
dock-yard  by  stagQ-coach.  As  I  had  often  heard  of  them  in  the 
capacity  of  outside  passengers,  and  had  more  than  once  seen  them 
on  the  liigh-road  dangling  their  ironed  legs  over  the  coach  roof,  I 
had  no  cause  to  he  surprised  when  Herbert,  meeting  me  in  the 
yard,  came  up  ami  told  me  there  were  two  convicts  going  down 
with  me.  But  1  had  a  reason  that  was  an  old  reason  now,  for 
constitutionally  faltering  Whenever  1   heard  the  word  convict. 

"You  don't  mind  them,  Handel  .' "  said  Herbert. 

"  Oh  no  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  seemed  as  if  you  didn't  like  them  ?  " 

"I  can't;  pretend  that  I  do  like  them,  and  I  suppose  you  don't 
particularly.     But  T  don't  mind  them." 

"  See  !  There  they  are,  '  said  Herbert.  "  coming  out  of  the  Tap. 
What  a  degraded  arid  vile  sight  it  is  !  " 

They  had  been  treating;  their  guard,  t  suppose,  for  they  had  a 
jailer  with  them,  and  all  three .came  out  wiping  their  mouths  on 
their  hands.  The  two  convicts  were  handcuffed  together,  and  had 
irons  on  their  legs — irons  of  a  pattern  that  I  knew  very  well.  They 
wore  the  dress  that  I  likewise  knew  very  well.  Their  keeper  had 
a  brace  of  pistols,  and  carried  a  thick-knobbed  bludgeon  under  his 
arm  ;  but  lie  was  on  terms  of  good  understanding  with  them,  and 
stood,  with  them  besid  .  him,  looking  on  at  the  puttiug-to  of  the- 
horses,  rather  with  an  air  as  if  they  were  an  interesting  exhibition 
not  formally  open  at  the  moment,  and  he  the  curator.  One  was  a 
taller  and  stouter  man  than  the  other,  and  appeared,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  according  to  the  mysterious  ways  of  the  world,  both 
convict  am!  free,  to  have  bad  allotted  to  him  the  smallest  suit  of 
(dot lies.  His  arms  and  legs  were  like  great  pin-cushions  of  those 
shapes,  and  his  attire  disguised  him  absurdly;  but  I' knew  his 
half-closed  eye  at.  one  glance.  There  stood  the  man  whom  I  had 
seen  on  the  settle  at  t lie  Three  Jolly  Bargemen  on  a  Saturday 
night,  and  who  had  brought  me  down  with  ids  invisible  gun  ! 

It  was  easy  to  make  sure  that  as  yet  he  knew  me  no  more  than 
if  he  had  never  seen  me  in  his  life.  He  looked  across  at  me  and 
his  eye  appraised  my  watch-chain,  and  then  he  incidentally  spat 
and  said  something  to  the  other  convict,  and  they  laughed  and 
slued  themselves  round  with  a  clink  of  their  coupling  manacle,  aud 
looked  at  something  else.  The  great  numbers  on  their  backs,  as 
if  they  were  street  doors  ;  their  coarse,  mangy,  ungainly  outer  sur- 
face, as  if  they  were  lower  animals;  their  ironed  legs,  apologeti- 
cally garlanded  with  pocket  -handkerchiefs  ;  and  the  way  in  which 
all  present  looked  at  then)  and  kept  from  them,  made  them  (as 
Herbert  had  said)  a  most  disagreeable  and  degraded  spectacle. 


182  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

But  this  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  It  came  out  that  the  whole 
of  the  back  of  the  coach  had  been  taken  by  a  family  removing 
from  London,  and  that  there  were  no  places  for  the  two  prisoners 
but  on  the  seat  in  front  behind  the  coachman.  Hereupon  a  chol- 
eric gentleman,  who  had  taken  the  fourth  place  on  that  seat,  flew 
into  a  most  violent  passion',  and  said  that  it  was  a  breach  of  con- 
tract, to  mix  him  up  with  such  villainous  company,  and  that  it  was 
poisonous  and  pernicious,  and  infamous,  and  shameful,  and  I  don't 
know  what  else.  At  this  time  the  coach  was  ready  and  the  coach- 
man impatient,  and  we  were  all  preparing  to  get  up,  and  the  pris- 
oners had  come  over  with  their  keeper — bringing  with  them  that 
curious  flavor  of  bread-poultice,  baize,  rope-yarn,  and  hearth-stone 
which  attends  the  convict  presence. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  much  amiss,  sir,"  said  the  keeper  to  the  angry 
passenger ;  "  I'll  sit  next  to  you  myself.  I'll  put  'cm  on  the  out- 
side of  the  row.  They  won't  interfere  with  you,  sir.  You  needn't 
know  they're  there." 

"And  don't  blame  me,r  growled  the  convict  1  had  recognized. 
"  /  don't  want  to  go.  i~  am  quite  ready  to  stay  behind.  As  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  any  one's  welcome  to  my  place." 

"  Or  mine,"  said  the  other,  gruffly.  "I  wouldn't  have  incom- 
moded none  of  you,  if  I'd  a  had  my  way."  Then  they  both  laugh- 
ed, and  began  cracking  nuts,  and  spitting  the  shells  about:  As  I 
really  think  I  should  have  liked  1o  do  myself,  if  I  had  been  in 
their  place  and  so  dispised. 

At  length  it  was  voted  that  there  was  no  help  for  the  angry  gen- 
tleman, and.  that  he  must  either  go  in  his 'chance  company  or  re- 
main behind.  So  he  got  into  his  place,  still  making  complaints, 
and  the  keeper  got  iuto  the  place  next  to  him,  and  the  convicts 
hauled  themselves  up  as  well  as  they  could,  and  the  convict  I  had 
recognized  sat  behind  me  with  his  breath  on  the  hair  of  my  head. 

"  Good-by,  Handel  !  "  Herbert  called  out,  as  we  started.  I 
thought  what  a  blessed  fortune  it  was  that  he  had  found  another 
name  for  me  than  Pip. 

It  is  impossible  to  express  with  what  acutencss  I  felt  the  con- 
vict's breathing,  not  only  on  the  back  of  my  head,  but  all  along 
my  spine.  The  sensation  was  like  being  touched  with  some  pun- 
gent and  searching  acid,  and  it  set  my  very  teeth  on  edge.  He 
seemed  to  have  more  breathing  to  do  than  another  man,  and  to 
make  more  noise  in  doing  it ;  and  I  was  conscious  of  growing 
high-shouldered  on  one  side  in  my  shrinking  endeavors  to  fend  him 
on. 

The  weather  was  miserably  raw,  and  the  two  cursed  the  cold. 
It  made  us  all  lethargic  before  we  had  gone  far,  and  when  we  had 
left  the  Half-way  House  behind,  we  habitually  dozed  and  shivered 
and  were  silent.  I  dozed  oft'  myself  in  considering  the  question 
whether  1  ought  to  restore  a  couple  of  pounds  to  this  creature 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  183 

before  losing  sight  ot  him,  and  how  it  could  best  be  done.  In 
tne  act  of  dipping  forward,  as  if  I  were  going  to  bathe  among 
the  horses,  1  awoke  in  a  frighl   and  look  the  question  up  again. 

But  I  must  have  lost  it-  linger  than  I  had  thought  for.  since, 
although  I  could  recognize  nothing  in  the  darkness  and  the  fitful 
lights  and  shadows  of  our  lamps,  1  traced  marsh  country  in  the 
cold  damp  wind  that  blew  at  us.  Cowering  forward  for  warmth, 
and  to  make  me  a  scree*  against  the  wind,  the  convicts  were 
closer  to  me  than  before  The  very  first  words  1  heard  them  in- 
terchange as  1  became  conscious  were  the  words  of  my  own 
thoughts,  "  T.wo  Qne-Poinra  notes." 

"How  did  he  get  'em  .' "  said  the  convict  I  had  never  seen. 

"  Hbw  should  I  know.'"  returned  the  other,  "lie  had  'em 
stowed  away  somehows.     Giy  him  by  friends,  1  expect.'' 

"I  wish."  said  the  other,  with  a  bitter  curse  upon  the  cold, 
"that  I   had  'em  here." 

"  Two  one-pound  notes  or  friends  ?"' 

"Two  one-pound  notes.  I'd  sell  all  the  friends  I  ever  had  for 
one.     Well.'      So  he  says—  T' 

"So  he  says,"  resumed  the  convict  I  had  recognized — "  it  was 
all  said  and  done  in  half  a  minute  behind  the  pile  of  timber  in 
the  yar ' — 'you're  going  to  be  discharged'.''  Yes,  I  was.  Would 
1  find  om  that  boy  that  had  fed  him  and  kep'  his  secret,  and  give 
him  them  two  one-pound  notes/     Yes,  I  would.     And   I  did." 

"  .More  fool  you,"  growled  the  other.  "  I'd  have  spent  'em  on 
a  Man  in  wit  ties  and  drink.  He'  must  have  been  a  green  one. — 
Mean  to  say  he  knOwed  nothing  of  you  ?■" 

"Not  a  ha'porth.  Different  gangs  and  different  ships,  lie  was 
tried  again  lit"  prison  breaking,  and  got  made  a  Lifer.  That's 
what  he  took  by  his  motion,  and  that's  all  I  know  of  him." 

"  And  was  that— Honor  ! — the  only  time  you  worked  out  in  this 
part  of  the  country  1 " 

"  The  only  time." 

"  What  might  have  been  your  opinion  of  The  place  ?" 

"  A  most  infernal  place.  Mudbank,  mist,  swamp,  and  work  ; 
work,  swamp,  mist,  and  mudbank." 

'ihev  both  execrated  the  place  in  very  strong  language,  and 
gradually  growled  themselves  out  and  had  nothing  left  to  say. 

After  overhearing  this  dialogue,  I  should  assuredly  have  got 
down  and  been  left  in  the  solitude  and  darkness  of  the  highway, 
but  for  feeling  certain  that  the  man  had  no  suspicion  of  my  identi- 
ty. Indeed,  I  was  not  only  so  changed  in  the  course  of  nature, 
but  so  ditl'ercnlly  dressed  and  so  differently  circumstanced,  that  it 
was  not  al  all  likely  he  could  have  known  me  without  accidental 
help!  Still,  the  coincidence  of  our  being  together  on  the  coach 
was  sufficiently  strange  to  fill  me  with  a  dread  that  some  other 
coincidence  might  at  any  moment  connect  me,  in  his  hearing,  with 


184  GREAT  EXPE  CTATIONS. 

my  name.  For  this  reason  I  resolved  to  alight  as  soon  as  we 
touched  the  town,  and  put  myself  beyond  his  hearing.  This  device 
I  executed  successfully.  My  little  portmanteau  was  in  the  boot 
under  my  feet ;  I  had  but  to  turn  a  hinge  to  get  it  out ;  I  threw  it 
down  before  me,  got  down  after  it,  and  was  left  at  Ihe  first  lamp 
on  the  first  stones  of  the  town  pavement.  As  to  the  convicts,  they 
went  their  way  with  the  coach,  and  I  knew  at  what  point  they 
would  be  spirited  off  to  the  river.  In  my  fancy  I  saw  the  boat 
with  its  convict  crew  waiting  for  them  at  the  slime-washed  stairs — 
again  heard  the  gruff  "  Give  way,  you  !"  like  an  order  to  dogs — 
again  saw  the  wicked  Noah's  Ark  lying  out  in  the  black  water. 

I  could  not  have  said  what  I  was  afraid  of,  for  my  fear  was  alto- 
gether undefined  and  vague, -but  there  was  fear  upon  rriel  As  I 
walked  on  to  the  hotel,  I  felt  that  a  dread,  exceeding  the  mere  ap- 
prehension of  a  painful  or  disagreeable  recognition,  made  me  trem- 
ble1. I  am  confident  that  it  took  no  distinctness  of  shapo,  and  that- 
it  was  the  revival  for  a  lew  minutes  of  the  terror  of  childhood. 

The  coffee-room  at  the  Blue  Boar  was  empty,  and  I  had  nol 
only  ordered  my  dinner  there,  but  had  sat  down  to  it.  before  the 
waiter  knew  me.  As  soon  as  ever  he  had  apologized  tor  the  re- 
missness of  his  memory,  he  asked  me  if  he  should  send  Boots  for 
Mr.  Pumblechook ! 

"  No,:'  paid  I,  "  certainly  not." 

The  waiter  (it  was  he  who  had  brought  up  the  Great  Remon- 
strance from  the  Commercials  on  when  I.was  hound)  ap- 
peared surprised,  and  took  the  earliest  opportunity  pf  putting  a 
dirty  old  copy  of  a  local  newspaper  so  directly  in  my  way,  that  ] 
took  it  up  and  read  this  paragraph  : 

"Our  readers  will  learn,  not  altogether  without  interest,  in  re- 
ference to  the  recent  romantic  rise  in  fortune  of  a  yoiibg  artificer 
in  iron  of  this  neighborhood  (what  a  theme,1  by-the-way,  for  the 
magic  pen  of  our  as  yet  nut  universally  acknowledged  townsman 
Tooby,  the  poet  of  our  columns  !),  that  the  youth's  earliest  patron, 
companion,  and  friend,  was  a  highly-respected  individual  not  en- 
tirely unconnected  with  the  corn  and  seed  trade,  and  whose  emi- 
nently eunvenient  and  commodious  business  premises  are  situate 
within  a  bundled  miles  of  the  High  Street.  It  is  no;  wholly  irre- 
spective of  our  personal  feelings  that  we  record  Hi.m  as  the  Mentor 
of  our  young  Telemachus,  for  it  is  good  to  know  that  our  town 
produced  the  founder  of  the  latter's  fortunes.  Does  the  thought- 
contracted  brow  of  the  local  Sage  or  the  lustrous  eye  of  local 
Beauty  inquire  whose  fortunes?  We  believe  that  Quentin  Matsys 
was  the  Blacksmith  of  Antwerp.    Verb.  Sap." 

I  entertain  a  conviction,  based  upon  large  experience,  that  if  in 
the  days  of  my  prosperity  I  had  gone  to  the  North  Pole,  I  should 
have  met  somebody  there,  either  wandering  Esquimaux  or  civil- 
ized man,  who  would  have  told  me  that  Pumblechook  was  my  ear- 
liest patron  and  the  founder  of  my  fortunes. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  185 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Betimes  in  t lie  morning  I  was  up  and  out.  It  was  too  earl) 
yet  to  go  to   Miss  Havisham's,  so  1  loitered  into  the  Country  on 

Miss  Havisham's  side  of  town — which  was  not  Joe's  side;  I  could 
gel  there  to-morrow — thinking  about  my  patroness,  and  painting" 
brilliant  pictures  of  her  plans  for  me. 

She  had  adopted  Estella,  she  had  as  goftd  as  adoptgd  me,  and  it 
could  not  fail  ta*be  her  mtention  to  bringus  .together.  She  re 
served  it  for  me  to  restore  the  desolate  house,  admit  the  sunshine 
into  the  dark  rooms,  set  the  clocks  a  going  and  the  cold  hearths  a 
blazing,  tear  down  the  cobwebs," destroy  the  vermin — in  short,  do 
all  the  shining  Ciwds  of  the  young  Kriight  of  romance,  and  marry 
llie  Princess.  .1  had  stopped  to  look  at  the  house  as  1  passed  ;  and 
its  seared  red  brick  walls,  blocked  windows,  and  strong  green  ivy 
clasping  even  the  stacks  of  chimneys  with  its  twin's  and  ten. 
as  if  with  sinewy  old  arms,  had  made  up  a  rich  attractive  mystery, 
of  which  I  was  the  hero.  Estella  was  the  inspiration  of  it,  and 
the  heart  of  it,  ot§«  ourse.  But.  though  she  had  taken  such  strong 
possession  of  me,  though  my  fancy  and  my  hope  were  so  set  upon 
her',  though  her  influence  on  my  boyish  life  and  character  had  been 
all-powerful,  1  did  not,  even  that  romantic  morning,  iiiveSl  her  with 
any  attributes  save  those  she  possessed.  I  mention  this  in  this 
pthoe,  of  a.  fixed  purpose,  because  it  is  the  clew  by  whrcfo  I  am  to 
he  followed  into  my  poor  labyrinth,  such  as  it  is.  According  to 
njy  experience*  the  conventional  notion  of  a  lover  can  not  be  al- 
ways true.  The  unqualified  truth  is,  that  when  I  loved  Estella 
with  the  love  of  a  man,  1  loved  her  because  I  found  her  irresistible. 
Once  for  all  ;  I  knew  to  my  sorrow,  often  and  often,  it  not  always, 
that  1  loved  her  against  reason,  against  promise,  against  pe 
against  hope,  against  happiness,  against  all  discouragement  that 
could  He.  Once  for  all :  J  loved  her  none  the  less  because  I  knew 
it,  and  it  had  no  more  influence  in  restraining  me  than  if  I  had 
devoutly  and  conventionally  believed  her  to  be  human  perfection. 

1  so  shaped  out  my  walk  as  to  arrive  at  the  gate  at  my  old  time. 
When  I  had  rung  at  the  bell  with  an  unsteady  band  1  turned  my 
back  upon  the  i_rate,  while  I  tried  to  get  my  breath  and  keep  the 
beating  of  cay  heart  moderately  quiet,  I  heard  the  side-door  open 
and  steps  come  across  the  court-yard  ;  but  I  pretended  not  to  hear. 
even  when  the  gate  swrJflg  on  its  rusty  hinges. 

ing  at  last  touched  on   the  shoulder,  1  started  and  turned.     I 
started  much   mote  naturally  ihen  to  find  myself  confronted  by  a 


186  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

man  in  a  sober  gray  dress.     The  last  man  I  should  have  expected 
to  see  in  that  place  of  porter  at  Miss  Havisham's  door. 

«  Orlick !" 

"All,  young  master,  there's  more  changes  than  yours.  But  come 
in,  conic  in.     Its  opposed  to  my  orders  to  bold  the  gate  open." 

I  entered  ami  he  swung  it,  and  locked  it,  and  took  the  key  out. 
"Yes!"  said  lie,  facing  round,  after  doggedly  preceding  me  a  few 
steps  towards  the  house.     "Here  I  am  !" 

"  How  did  yon  come  here  ?•" 

"  I  come  here,"  he  retorted,  "  on  my  legs.  I  had  my  box 
'brought  alongside  me  in  a  barrow."  • 

"  Are  \  on  here  for  good  V ' 

"  1  ain  t  here  for  harm,  young  master,  I  suppose  ?" 

I  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  1  bad  leisure  to  mitertaiu  the  retort 
in  my  mind,  while  he  slowly  lifted  his  heavy  glance  from  the  pave- 
ment, up  my  legs  and  arms,  to  my  face. 

"  Then  yon  have  left  the  forge  !"  I  said. 

"Do  this  look  like  a  forge?"  replied  Orlick,  sending  his  glance 
all  around  him  witli  an  air  of  injury.     "  Now,  do  it  look  like  it  P 

1  asked  him  how  long  he  had  left  Gargery's  forge? 

"One  day   is  so   like   another   here,'   be  replied,  "  that  I  don't 
know  without  casting  it  up.    However,  I  come  here  some  time 
since  you  left." 
'"  1  could  have  told  you  that,  Orlick."  . 

"  Ah  !"  said  he,  dryly.     "  But  then  you've  got  to  lie  a  scholar." 

By  this  time  we  bad  come  to  the  house,  where  I  found  bis  room 
to  be  one  just  within  the  side-door,  with  a  little  window  in  it  look- 
ing on  the  court-yard,  in  its  small  proportions  it  was  not  unlike 
the  kind  of  place  usually  assigned  to  a  gate-porter  in  Paris.  Otr- 
tain  keys  were  hanging  on  the  wall,  to  which  he  now  added  the 
gate  key,  and  his  patch-work  covered  bed  was  in  a  little  inner  divi- 
sion or  recess.  The  whole  had  a  slovenly,  confined,  ami  sleepy 
look,  like  a  cage  for  a  human  dormouse  :  while  he  looming  dark 
and  heavy  in  the  shadow  of  a  comer  by  the  window,  looked  like 
the  human  dormouse  for  whom  it  was  fitted  up — as  indded  be  was. 

"  I  never  saw  this  room  before,"  I  remarked  ;  "  but  there  used 
to  be  no  porter  here." 

"No,"  said  he  ;  "  not  till  it  got  about  that  there  was  no  protec- 
tion on  the  premises,  and  it  come  to  he  considered  dangerous,  with 
convicts  and  Tag  and  Rag  and  Bobtail  going  up  and  down.  And 
then  1  was  recommended  to  the  place  as  a  man  who  could  give 
another  man  as  good  as  be  brought,  and  I  took  it.  It's  easier  than 
bellowsing  and  hammering.     That's  loaded,  that  is." 

My  eye  had  been  caught  by  a  gun  with  a  brass-bound  stock  over 
the  chimney-piece,  and  his  eye  had  followed  mine. 

"  Well,"  said  I.  not  desirous  of  more  conversation,  "shall  I  go 
up  to  Miss  Havisbam  ?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  187 

"Burn  me  if  I  know!"  he  retorted,  first  stretching  himself  and 
then  shaking  himself;  "myoiders  ends  here,  young  pfiasteh  I 
give  this  hen-'  bell  a  rap  with  this  here  hammer,  and  you  go  on 
along  the  passage  till  you  meet  somebody."    ' 

"  I  am  expected,  1    believe  !  " 

"  Burn  me  twice  over  if  1  can  say  !  "  said  he. 

Upon  that  I  turned  down  the  long  passage  which  1  had  first 
trodden  in  my  thick  hoots,  and  lie  made  his  hell  sound.  At  the 
end  of  the  passage,  while  the  hell  was  still  reverberating,  I  found 
Sarah  Poekei.  who  appeared  to  have  now  ;  onstitutionally 

green  and  vellow  by  reason  • 

"Oh  !"  said  she.  *  "  You,  is  it.  .Mr.  Tip  V 

"  It  is,  Miss  Pocket.  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Pootel  and 
family  are  all  well." 

"Are  they  any  wiser?"  said  Sarah,  with  a  dismal  shake  of  the 
head;  "they  had  better  he  wiser  than  well.  Ah,  Matthew,  Mat- 
thew !      You  know  your  way,  sir  >  " 

Tolerably,  for  1   had  gone  up  the  staircase  in   the  dark  many  a 
time.     I  ascended  it  now,  in  lighter  boots  than  of  yore,  and  t;;- 
in   my  old   way   at    the  door  uf  Miss    llavisham's  room.     "  I 
rap,"  1    heard   her  say,  immediately  ;  ••  come  in,  Pip." 

She  was  in  her  chair  near  the  old  table,  in  the  old  dress,  with 
her  two  hands  crossed  on  her  stick',  her  chin  resting  on  them,  and 
her  eyes  on  the  tire.  Sitting  near  her,  with  the  white  shoe  that 
had  never  been  worn  in  her  hand,  and  her  head  bent  as  she  looked 
at  it,  was  an  elegant  lady  whom  I   had  never  seen. 

"Come  in.  Pip,"  Miss  Havisham  continued  to  mutter,  without 
looking  round  or  up  :  "  come  in.  Pip  :  how  do  you  do,  Pip  !  so  you 
kiss  my  hand  as  if  I  were  a  queen,  eh  .' — "Well  I  " 

She  looked  up  at  me  suddenly,  Only  moving  her  eyes,  and  re- 
peated, in  a  grimly  playful  manner, 

"  Well  V 

."1  heard,  Miss  Ilavisham,"  said  I,  rather  at  a  loss,  "that  you 
were  so  kind  as  to  wish  me  to  come  and  see  you,  and  I  came  di- 
rectly." 

"  Well  ? " 

The  lady  whom  I  had  never  seen  before  lifted  up  her  eyes  and 
looked  archly  at  me,  and  then  I  saw  that  the  eyes  were  Estella's 
eyes.  But  she  was  so  much  changed,  was  so  much  more  beautiful, 
so  much  more  womanly,  in  all  things  winning  admiration  had  made 
SiVh  wonderful  advance  that  1  seemed  to  have  made  none.  I  fan- 
cied, as  1  looked  at  her,  that  I  bad  slipped  hopelessly  back  into 
the  coarse  and  common  boy  again.  <  >h  the  sense  of  distance  and 
disparity  that  came  upon  me.  and  the  inaccessibility  that  came 
about  her! 

She  gave  me  her  han  i.    T  stammered  something  about  the  pleas- 


188  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ure  T  felt  in  seeing  her  again,  and  my  having  looked  forward  to  it 
for  a  long/tong  time. 

"Do  you  find  her  much  changed,  Pip?"  asked  Miss  Havisham 
with  her  greedy  look,  and  striking  her  stick  upon  a  chair  that  stood 
between  them,  as  a  sign  to  me  to  sit  down  there. 

"  When  I  came  in,  Miss  Havisham,  I  thought  there  was  nothing 
of  Estella  in  the  face  or  figure;  but  now  it  all  settles  down  so  cu- 
riously into  the  old — " 

"  What  ?  You  are  not  going  to  say  into  the  old  Estella?"  Miss 
Havisham  interrupted.  "  She  was  proud  and  insulting,  and  you 
wanted  to  go  away  from  her.     Don't  you  remember  ?" 

I  said,  confusedly,  that  that  was  long  ago,  and  that  I  knew  no 
better  then,  and  the  like.  Estella  smiled  with  perfect  composure, 
and  said  she  had  no  doubt  of  my  having  been  quite  right,  and  of 
her  having  been  very  disagreeable. 

"Is  he  changed  ?"  Miss  Havisham  asked  her. 

"Very  much."'  said  Estella,  looking  at  me.  , 

."  Less  coarse  and  common  ?  "  said  Miss  Havisham,  playing  with 
Estella's  hair. 

Estella  laughed,  and  looked  at  the  shoe  in  her  hand,  and 
laughed  again,  and  looked  at  me,  and  put  the  shoe  down.  She 
treated  me  as  a  boy  still,  but  she  lured  me  on. 

We  sat  in  the  dreamy  room  among  the  old  strange  influences 
which  had  so  wrought  upon  me,  and  I  learned  that  she'  had  but 
just  come  home  from  France,  and  that  she  was  going  to  London. — , 
Proud  and  willful  as  of  old,  she  had  brought  those  qualities  into 
such  subjection  to  her  beauty  that  it  was  impossible  and  out  of  na- 
ture— or  I  thought  so — to  seperate  them  from  her  beauty.  Truly 
it  was  impossible  to  dissociate  her  presence  from  all  those  wretched 
hankerings  after  money  and  gentility  that  had  disturbed  my  boy- 
hood— from  all  those  ill-r  gulated  aspirations  that  had  first  made 
me  ashamed  of  home  and  Joe — from  all  those  visions  that  had  rais- 
ed her  face  in  the  glowing  fire,  struck  if  out  of  the  iron  on  the  an- 
vil, extracted  it  from  the  darkness  of  night  to  look  in  at  the  wooden 
window  of  the  forge  and  flit  away.  In  a  word,  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  separate  her,  in  the  past  or  in  the  present,  from  the  in- 
nermost life  of  my  life. 

It  was  settled  that  I  should  stay  there  all  the  rest  of  the  day, 
and  return  to  the  hotel  at  night,  and  to  London  to-morrow.  When 
we  had"  conversed  for  a  while,  Miss  Havisham  sent  us  two  out  to 
walk  in  the  neglected  garden  ;  on  our  coming  in  by-and-by,  she  said 
I  should  wheel  her  about  a  little  as  in  times  of  yore. 

So  Estella  and  I  went  out  into  the  garden  by  the  gate  through 
which  I  had  strayed  to  my  encounter  with  the  pale  young  gentle- 
man, now  Herbert  ;  I,  trembling  in  spirit  and  worshiping  the  very 
hem  of  her  dress;  she,  quite  composed  and  most  decidedly  not  wor- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  189 

shiping  the  hem  of  mine.     As  we  drew  near  the  place  of  encoun- 
ter she  slopped  and  said  :  , 

"  I  must  have  been  a  singular  little  creature  to  hide  ami  see  that 
fight  that  day  ;   but  I  did,  and   I  enjoyed  it.  very  much." 

"  You  rewarded  me  very  much;" 

"Did  11  "  she  replied,  in  an  incidental   and  forgetful  way.     "  I 
remember  I  entertained  a  great  objection  to  your  adversary,  be- 
cause I  took  it  ill  that  he  should  be  brought  here  to  pester  me  with 
his  company." 
■  "We  are  great  friends  now,"  said  I. 

"Are  you?  I  think  I  recollect  though,  that  you  read  with  his 
father?" 

"Yes." 

I  made  the  admission  with  reluctance,  for  it  seemed  to  have  a 
bovL-di  look,  and  she  already  treated  me  more  than  enough  like  a 
boy. 

"  Since  your  change  of  fortune  and  pics  cots  you  have  changed 
your  companions,"  said  Ks.clia. 

"  Naturally,  '  said   1. 

■•  And  necessarily,"  she  added,  in  a  haughty  tone;  "what  was 
fit  company  for  you  once  wouid  be  (pule  until  company  for  yob 
now." 

In  my  conscience  I  doubt  very  much  whether  I  had  any  linger- 
ing intention  left,  of  going  to  see  Joe;  but  if  I  hud,  this  observa- 
tion put  it  to  flight. 

"  You  had  no  idea  of  your  impending  good  fortune  in  those  times  ?" 
said  Estella,  with  a  slight  wave  of  her  hand,  signifying  in  the  fight- 
ing times. 
"'•  Not.  the  least,"' 

The  air  of  completeness  and  superiority  with  which  she  walked 
at  my  side,  and  the  air  of  youlhfiilness  and'deiVrence  with  which  I 
walked  at  hers,  made  a  contrast  that  1  strongly  felt,  It  would 
have  rankled  in  me  more  than  it  did,  if  I  had  not  regarded  my- 
self as  eliciting  it  by  being  so  set  apart  for  her  and  assigned  to 
her. 

The  garden  was  too  overgrown  and  rank  for  walking  in  with 
case,  and  after  we  had  made  the  round  of  it  twice  or  thrice  we 
•  out  again  into  the  brewery -yard.  1  showed  her  to  a  nicety 
where  I  had  seen  her  walking  on  the  casks,  thai  first  old  day,  and 
she  said,  with  a  cold  and  careless  look  in  that  direction,  "Did  1  ?" 
1  reminded  her  where  she  had  come  out  of  the  house,  and  given 
me  my  meat  and  drink,  and  she  said,  "  1  don't  remember."  "  Not 
remember  that  you  made  rue  cry  .'"  said  I.  "No,"  said  she,  and 
k  her  head  and  looked  about  her.  I  verily  believe  that  her 
not  remembering,  and  not  minding  it  in  the  least,  made  me  cry 
again  inwardh — and  that  is  the  sharpest  crying  of  all. 

"  You  miu»t  know,"  said  EeteLla,  condescending  to  ms  as  a  brfl- 


19U  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

liant  and  beautiful  woman  might,  '(that  I  have  no  heart — if  that 
lias  any  thing  to  do  with  my  memory." 

I  got  through  some  jargon  to  the  effect  that  I  took  the  liberty  of 
^loubting  that.  That  I  knew  better.  That  there  could  be  no  such 
beauty  without  it. 

Hi !  I  have  a  heart  to  be  stabbed  in  or  shot  in,  I  have  no 
doubt,"  said  Estella,  "  and,  of  course,  if  it  ceased  to  beat  I  should 
reasc  to  be.  But  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  have  no  softness 
( here,  no — sympathy — sentiment — nonsense." 

What  7vas  it  that  was  borne  in  upon  my  mind  when  she  stood 
still  and  looked  attentively  at  me  ?  Any  thing  that  1  had  seen  in 
Havisham?  No.  In  some  of  her  looks  and  gestures  there 
was  that  ting*e  of  resemblance  to  Miss  Havisham  which  may  often 
be  noticed  to  have  been  acquired  by  children  from  grown  persons 
with  whom  they  have  been  much  associated  and  secluded,  and 
which,  when  childhood  is  past,  will  produce  a  remarkable  occasion- 
al lik  ness  of  expression  between  faces  that  are  otherwise  quite  dif- 
ferent. And  yet  I  could  not  trace  this  to  Miss  Havisham.  I  look- 
ed again,  and  though  she  was  still  looking  at  me,  the  suggestion 
was  gone. 

AVh  at  was  it  ? 

"  1  am  serious,"  said  Estella,  not  so  much  with  a  frown  (for  her 
brow  was  smooth)  as  with  a  darkening  of  her  face  ;  "  if  we  are  to 
lie  thrown  much  .together,  you  had  better  believe  it  at  once.  No  !" 
imperiously  stopping  me  as  1  opened  my  lips.  "  I  have  not  be- 
stowed my  tenderness  any  where.  1  have  never  bad  any  such 
thing." 

In  another  moment  we  were  in  the  brewery  so  long  disused,  and 
she  pointed  to  the  high  gallery  where  I  had  seen  her  going  out  on 
that  same  first  day,  and  told  me  she  remembered  to  have  been  up 
there,  and  to  have  seen*  me  standing  scared  below.  As  my  eyes 
followed,  her  white  hand,  again  the  same  dim  suggestion  that  I 
could  not  possibly  grasp  crossed  me.  My  involuntary  start  occa- 
sioned her  to  lay  her  hand  upon  my  arm.  Instantly  the  ghost 
passed  once  more,  for  the  last  time,  and  was  gone. 

What  was  it  ? 

"  What  is  the  matter V  said  Estella:  "are  you  scared  again  V 

"I  should  be,  if  I  believed  what  you  said  just  now,"  1  replied, 
to  turn  it  off. 

"  Then  you  don't  1  Very  well.  It  is  said,  at  any  rate.  Miss 
Havisham  will  soon  be  expecting  you  at  your  old  post,  though  I 
think  that  might  be  laid  aside  now,  with  other  old  belongings.  Let 
us  make  one  more  round  of  the  garden,  and  then  go  in.  Come ! 
You  shall  not  shed  tears  for  my  cruelty  to-day  ;  you  shall  be  my 
Page,  and  give  me  your  shoulder." 

Her  handsome  dress  had  trailed  upon  the  ground.  She  held  it 
fa  one  hand  now,  and  with  the  other  lightly  touched  my  shoulder 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  191 

as  we  walked.  We  walked  round  the  ruined  garden  twice  or 
thrice  more,  and  it  was  ;ill  in  bloom  for  hoe.  If  the  green  and 
yellow  growth  of  weed  in  the  chinks  of  the  old  wall  had  been  ihe 
most  precious  flowers  that  ever  blew,  it  could  not  have  been  more 
cherished  in  my  remembrance. 

There  was  no  discrepancy  of  years  between  us  to  remove  her 
far  from  me  ;  we 'wore  of  nearly  the  same  ;igc,  though  of  course 
the  age  told  far  more  in  her  case  than  in  mine;  but  the  air  of  in- 
accessibility which  her  beauty  and  her  manner  gave  her,  torment- 
ed me  in  the  midst  of  my  delight,  and  at  the  height  of  the  assur- 
ance I  felt  that  our  patroness  had  chosen  us  for  one  another. 
"Wretched  boy  ! 

At  last  we  went  back  into  the  house,  and  there  I  heard,  with 
surprise,  that  my  guardian  had  come  down  to  see  Miss  Ilavisham 
on  business  and  would  come  back  to  dinner.  The  old  wintry 
branches  of  chandeliers  in  the  room  where  the  mouldering  table 
was  spread,  bad  been  lighted  while  we  weie  out,  and  Miss  Ilavi- 
sham was  in  her  chair  wailing  for  me. 

It,  was  like  pushing  the  chair  itself  back  into  the  past,  when  we 
began  the  slow  circuit  round  about  the  ashes  of  the .bridal  feast. 
Bui  in  the  funereal  room,  with  that  figure  of  the  gr  ve  fallen  back 
in  tlie  chair  fixing  its  eyes  upon"  her.  Kstella  looked  more  bright 
and  beautiful  than  before.     I  was  under  stronger  enchantment. 

The  time  so  melted  away  that  our  early  dinner-hour  drew  close 
land,  and  Estella  left  us  to  prepare  herself.  We  had  slopped 
near  the  centre  of  the  long  table,  and  Miss  Ilavisham,  with  one  of 
her  withered  arms  stretched  out  of  the  chair,  rested  that  clenched 
hand  upon  the  yellow  cloth.  As  Estella  looked  back  over  her 
shoulder  before  going  out  at  the  door,  Miss  Ilavisham  kissed  that 
hand  to  her,  with  a  ravenous  intensity  that  was.  of  its  kind,  quite 
dreadful. 

Then.  Estella  being  gone  and  we  two  left  alone,  she  turned  to 
me,  and  said,  in  a  whisper, 

"Is  she  beautiful',  graceful,  well-grown  I  Do  you  admire  her '/"' 

■'  Every  body  must  who  sees  her.  Miss  Hayisham." 

She  drew  an  arm  round  my  neck,  and  drew  my  head  close  down 
tb  hefs'aa  she  sat  in  the  chair.  "  Love  her,  iove  her,  love  her! 
How  does  she  use  you  V 

Before  I  could  answer  (if  I  could  have  answered  such  a  difficult 
question  at  all)  she  repeated,  "Loye  her,  love  her.  love  her!  If 
she  favor*  you,  love  her.  It  she  wounds  yo'u,  love  her.  If  she 
tears  your  heart  to  pieces — and  as  it  gets  older  and  stronger  it 
wiil  tear  deeper — !ove  her.  love  her)  love'ir 

N(  ver  had  I  seen  such  passionate  eagerness  as  was  joined  to 
her  utterance  of  these  words.  I  could  feel  the  muscles  of  the 
thin  arm  round  my  neck  swell  with  the  vehemence  that  possessed 
her. 


192  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Hear  me,  Pip!  I  adopted  her,  to  be  loved.  I  bred  her  and 
educated  her,  to  be  loved.  I  developed  her  into  what  she  is,  that 
she  might  be  loved.     Love  her!" 

She  said  the  word  often  enough,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  she  meant  to  say  it ;  but  if  the  often  repeated  word  had  been 
bafe  instead  of  love — despair — revenge — dire  death — it  could  not 
have  sounded  from  her  lips  more  like  a  curse. 

. "  I'll- tell  you,"  said  she,  in  the  same  hurried  passionate  whis- 
per, "  what  real  love  is.  It  is  blind  devotion*,  unquestioning  self- 
humiliation,  utter  submission,  trust  and  belief,  against  yourself 
and  against  the  world,  giving  up  your  whole  heart  and  soul  to  the 
sniilcr — as  I  did  !" 

When  she  came  to  that,  and  to  a  desperate  cry  that  followed 
that,  I  caught  her  runnel  the  waist.  For  she  rose  up  in  the  chair, 
in  her  shroud  of  a  dress,  and  wildly  struck  at  the  air  as  if  she 
would  as  soon  have  struck  herself  against  the  wall  and  have  fallen 
dead. 

All  this  passed  in  a  few  seconds.  As  T  drew  her  down  into  her 
chair,  I  was  conscious  of  a  scent  that  I  knew,  and  turning,  saw  my 
guardian  in  the  room. 

He  always  carried  (I  have  not  yet  mentioned  it,  I  think)  a 
pocket-handkerchief  of  rich  silk  and  of  imposing  proportions, 
which  was  of  great  value  to  him  in  his  profession.  I  have  seen 
him  so  terrify  a  client  or  a  witness  by  ceremoniously  unfolding  his 
pocket-handkerchief  as  if  he  were  immediately  going  to  blow  his 
nose,  and  then  pausing,  as  if  he  knew  lie  shon  d  not  have  time  to 
do  it  before  such  client  or  witness  committed  himself,  that  the  self- 
committal  has  fol  owed  directly,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 
When  1  saw  him  in  the  room,  .he  had  this  expressive  pocket- 
handkerchief  in  both  hands,  and  was  looking  at  us.  On  meeting 
my  eye,  he  said  plainly  by  a  momentary  and  silent  pause  in  that 
attitude,  "Indeed?  Singular!"  and  then  put  the  handkerchief 
to  its  right  use  with  wonderful  effect, 

Miss  Havisham  had  seen  him  as  soon  as  I,  and  was  (like  every 
body  else)  afraid  of  him.  She  made  a  strong  attempt  to  compose 
herself,  and  stammered  that  he  was  as  punctual  as  ever. 

"As  punctual  as  ever."  he  repeated,  coming  up  to  us.  "  (How 
do  you  do,  Pip  ?  Shall  I  give  you  a  ride,  Miss  Havisham  1  Once 
round  .'}     And  so  you  are  here,  Pip?" 

I  told  him  when  I  had  arrived,  and  bow  Miss  Havisham  had 
wished  me  to  come  and  see  Estella.  To  which  he  replied,  "Ah! 
Very  fine  young  lady  !"  Then  he  pushed  Miss  Havisham  in  her 
chair  before  him  with  one 'of  his  large  hands,  and  put  the  other  in 
his  trowsers-pocket,  as  if  the  pocket  were  full  of  secrets. 

"  Well,  Pip  !  How  often  have  you  seen  Miss  Estella  before  ? " 
said  he,  when  he  came  to  a  stop. 

"  How  often  ? " 


ttSEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  tig 

i' Ah  !     How  many  limes/     'i'rn  thousau;!  times  '?  " 

"  Oil  !      <  '.-rl  duly  7ioi  so  mam." 

"  Twice  ?  " 

"^aggers,"    irttefeposed    Miss    ilavisham,    much    to   my    re! 
"leave  my  Lin  alone,  and  go  with  him  to  your  dinner." 

He  complied,  and  we  groped  our  way  down  the  dark  stairs  to- 
gether.    While  we  wdre  still  on  our  way  lo  ihose  fletiach 
menls  across  ihe  rjftved  yard  at  ihe  had.,  lie  asked  me  how  often  i 
had  seen  Miss  ilavisham  eat  and  drink  ;   offering  me  ;)   breadth  of 
choice,  as  us:;al,  between  a  hundred  times  and  once. 

1  considered,  and  said  "  New 

••  And  never  will.  !'ij>."  he  retorted  with  a  frowniryj  smile.  "She 
has  never  allowed  herself  to  he  seen  doing  either  siikm  she  lived 
this  present-  life  of  hers.  She  wanders  about  in  the  nhiht.aml  lays 
hands  on  such  food  as  she  takes." 

•'  Pray,  sir."  said   I.  "  may  I  ask  you  a  question  ?  " 

"  Von  may."  said  he,  "aud  I  may  decline  to  answer  it.  Pit 
your  quest! 

"  Ratellsfs  name,     [s  it  Ilavisham,  or 1 "     T  had  nothing  to 

add. 

"Or,  what  I  "  said  lie. 

"  Is  it  Ua\isham  I  " 

"  It  is  Ilavisham." 

This  bro'ughl  mcr-iable,  where  she  and  Sarah  Pock- 

et awaited  us.  Mr.  Jaggers  presided,  Estella  sat  opposite  to  him, 
1  laced  my  green  and  yellow  friend.  We  dined  very  well,  and 
were  wailed  on  by  a  maid-servant  whom  I  had  never  seen  in  ail 
my  comings  and  gdingS",  hut  who,  for  anything  I  know,  had  been 
in  that  mysterious  house,  1  he  whole  lime.  After  dinner  a  buttle  of 
choice  old  port  was  placed  before  my  guardian  (he  was  evidently 
well  acquainted  with  ihe  vintage)]  and  the  two  ladies  left  us. 

Anything  to  equal  the  determined  reticence  of  Mr.  Jaggers  under 
that  roof  i  never  saw  elsewhere,  even  in  him.  lie  kepi  his  very 
looks  lo  himself,  and  scarcely  directed  his  eyes  to  Estella's  face 
once  during  dinner,  when  she  spoke  to  him,  ho  listened,  and  in 
due  course  answered,  but  never  looked  at  her  that  I  could  see. — 
On  the  other  hand,  she  often  looked  at  him,  with  interest  and  curi- 
osity, if  no;  distrust,  but  his  face  never  s  owed  the  least  conscious- 
ness. Throughout  dinner-he  took  a  dry  delight  in  making  Sarah 
Pocket  greener  and  yellower,  by  often  referring  in  conversation 
with  me  to  my  expectations;  hut  bete,  again,  he  showed  no  con- 
sciousness, and  even  made  it  appear  that  he  extorted — and  even 
did  extort,  though  1  don't,  know  bow — those  references  out  of  my 
innocent  self. 

And  when  he  and  I  were  left  alone  together,  he  sal  with  an  air 
upon  him  ot  general  lying  by  in  consequence  of  information  he 
possessed,  that  really  was  too   amah  for  rue.      He  •nw-examined 
LS 


VJ4  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. * 

his  very  wine  when  he  had  nothing 'else  in  hand,  lie  held  it  be- 
tween himself  and  the  candle,  tasted  the  port,  rolled  it  in  his 
mouth,  swallowed  it.  looked  at 'She  port  again,  smelled  it,  tried  it, 
drank  it,  rilled  again,  and  cross-examined  the  glass  again,  until  I 
was  as  nervous  as  if  I  had  known  the  wine  to  be  telling  him  some- 
thing to  my  disadvantage.  Three  or  four  times  I  feebly  thought 
I  would  star!  Conversation  ;  but  whenever  he  saw  me  going  to  ask 
him  anything  he  looked  at  me  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  and  roll- 
ing his  wine  aboul  in  bis  mouth,  as  if  requesting  me  to  ta;<e  notice 
that  it  was  of  no  use.  for  he  couldn't  answer. 

I  think  Miss  Pocket  was  conscious  that  tin*  sight  of  me  involve.! 
her  in  the  danger  of  being  goaded  to  madness,  and  perhaps  tearing 
off  her  cap — winch  was  a  very  hideous  one,  in  the  nature  of  a  mus- 
lin mop — and  strewing  the  ground  with  her  hair — which  assuredly 
had  never  grown  on  Iwr  head.  She  did  m>i  appear  when  we  after- 
ward went  up  to  Miss  Havisham's  room,  and  we  four  played  at 
whist.  In  the  interval,  Miss  Ilavisham,  in  a  wild  way,  had  put 
Some  of  the  most  beautiful  jewels  from  her  dressing-table^  irtto  Es- 
lella's  hair,  and  about  her  bosom  ami  tfti   I   saw  eve.; 

guardian  look  at  her  from  under  his  thick  eyepraws.and  raise  ihem 
a  little  when  her  loveliness  was  before  him,  with  tlms,'  rich  (lushes 
of  glitter  and  color  in  it. 

Of  the  manner  and  extent  to  which  be  took  cur  trumps  .into  cus- 
tody, ami  came  out  with  mean  litib  the  ends  of  hands,  before 
which  the  glory  of  our  Kings  and   Queens  was  utterly  abased,   ! 

othing;  nor  of  i lie  feeding  that  I  bad,  respecting  his  lool 
upon  us  personally  in  the  light  of  three  very  obvious  and  poor  rid- 
iiat  he  had  found  out  long  ago.  What  I  suffered  from  was 
the  incompatibility  between  bis  cold  presence  and  my  feelings  to- 
ward Estella.  It  was  not  that  I'knew  I  could  never  bear  to  speak 
to  him  about  her,  that  I  knew  1  could  never  bear  to  hear  him 
creak  his  boots  at  her,  that  I  knew  I  could  never  bear  to  see  him 
wash  his  hands  of  her;  it  was,  that  my  admiration  should  be  with- 
in a  foot  or  two  of  him — ii  was,  that  my  f<  clings  should  be  in  the 
same  place  with  him — that,  was  the  agonizing  circhmstai 

We  played  until  nine  o'clock,  and  then  it  was  arranged  that 
when  Estella  came  to  London  I  should  be  forewarned  other  com- 
ing and  should  meet  her  at  the  coach  ;  and  then  I  took  leave  of-her, 
and  touched  her  and  left  her. 

My  guardian  lay  at  the  Boar,  in  the  next  room  to  mine.  Far 
into  the  i  3  Havisham's  words,  "Love  her,  love  her,  love 

her !"  sounded  in  my  ears.  I  adapted  them  for  my  own  repeti- 
tion, and  said  1o  my  pillow,  "  1  love  her,  I  love  her,  I  love  her  !  " 
thousands  of  times.  TJien  a  burst  of  gratitude  came  upon  me, 
she  should  lie  destined  for  me.  once  the  blacksmith's  boy. — 
Then,  I  thought,  if  she  were,  as  I  feared,  by  no  means  rapturously 
.errateful  for  that  destiny  y«t»  when  would  she  he^in  to  he  into*- 


GHE.LT  EXPECTATIONS.  19a 

ested  in  me  ?     When  should  I  awaken  the  heart  within  her  that 
was  mute  and  steeping  ncfw  I 

All  me  !  I  thought  those  were  high  and  great  emotions.  But 
I  never  thought  there  was  any  thing  low  and  small  in  my  keep- 
ing away  from  Joe,  because  1  knew  she  would  lie  contemptuous  of 
him.  It  was  hut  a  day  gone,  and  doe  had  brought  the  tears  into 
my  eyes;  they  had  soon  dried.  God  forgive  -me  !  soon  i 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Aftf.i:  \\\\\  considering  the  matter  while  1  was  dressing  at  the 
BkieBoanin  the  ipornurg,  I  revolted  to  tell  my  guard;  . 
doubted  <  <r.;e!v's  being  the  right  sort  of  a  man  to  fill  a  post  of 
irusi  at -Ali--'  HayisbauTs.  "  Why,  of  course  he  is  not  the  right 
sort  of  a  Ulan,  Pip,"  said  ply  guardian,  comfortably  satisfied  be- 
forehand on  the  general  head.  "  because  the  man  who  fills  the  post 
of  trust  never  is  the  right  sort  of  man."  It  seemed  quite  to 
put  him  into  spirits  to  find  That  this  particular  post  was  not  ac- 
cidentally and  exceptionally  held  by  the  right  sort  of  man,  and  be 
listened  in  a  satisfied  manner  while  I  told  him  what  knowledge  1 
had  of  Orliek.  "Very  good,  Pip,"  he  observed,  when  1  had  con- 
cluded. '•  IT  go  round  presently,  and  pay  our  friend  cfff,"  Rather 
alarmed  by  this  summary  action,  I  was  for  a  little  delay,  and  even 
hinted  that  our  friend  himself  might  be  difficult  to  deal  with. '"  ( )'u 
no  he  won't,"  said  my  guardian,  making  his  pocket-handkerchief 
point  with  |  erfeet  co  fidenee;  "  I  should  like  to  see  him. argue  the 
question  with  me? 

-  we  were  going  back  together  to  London  by  the  mid-day  coach, 
and  as  I  breakfasted  under  such  terrors  of  Pumblechook  that  I 
could  scarcely  hold  my  cup,  this  gave  me  an  opportunity  ©f  say- 
ing that  1  wanted  a  walk,  and  that  I  would  go  on  along  the  Lon- 
Etoad  while  Mr.  Jaggers  was  occupied,  if  he  would  let  the 
coachman  know  that  I  would  get  into  my  place  when  overtaken. 
I  was  thus  enabled  to  fly  from  the  Blue  Boar  immediately  after 
breakfast:  By  then  making  a  loop  of  about  a  couple  of  miles  into 
the  open  country  at  the  back  of  Pumblechook's  premises,  I  got 
round  into  the  High  Street  again,  a  little  beyond  that  pitfall,  and 
felt  myself  in  comparative  security. 

It  was  interesting  to  be  in  the  quiet  old  town  once  more,  and  it 
was  not  disagreeable  to  be  here  and  there  suddenly  recognized  and 


196  ©EEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

stared  after.  One  or  two  of  the  tradespeople  even  darted  out  of 
their  shops  and  went  a  little  way  down  the  street  before  me,  that 
they  might  turn,  as  if  they  had  fdrgptten  something,  and  pass  me 
face  to  facte — on  which  occasions  I  don'i  know  Whether  they  or  I 
made  the  worse  pretence;  they  of  not  doing  it,  or  I  of  not  seeing 
it.  Still  my  position  was  a  distinguished  one,  and  I  was  not  ail 
dissatisfied  with  it,  until  Fate  threw  me  in  the  way  of  that  unlim- 
ited miscreant,  Trabb's  bov. 

Casting  my  eyes  along  the  street  at  a  certain  point  of  my  pro- 
gress. T  beheld  Trabb's  boy  approaching,  lashing  himself  with  an 
empty  blue  bag.  Deeming  that  a  serene  and  unconscious  con- 
templation of  him  would  best  beseem  me,  and  would  be  most 
likely  to  quell  his  evil  mind,  1  advanced  with  that  expression  of 
countenance,  and  was  rather  congratulating  myself  on  my -suc- 
cess, when  suddenly  the  knees  of  Trabb's  boy  smote  together,  Ids 
hair  uprose,  his  cap  fell  off,  he  trembled  violently  in  every  limb, 
staggered  out  in  the  road,  and  crying  to  the  populace,  "Hold 
rue !  I'm  so  frightened!-'  feigned  to  be  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror 
and  contrition,  occasioned  by  the  dignity  of  my  appearance.  As 
I  passed  him  his  teeth  loudly  chattered  in  his  head,  and,  with 
every  mark  of  extreme  humiliation,  he  prostrated  himself  in  'he 
dust'. 

This  was  a  hard  thing  to  bear,  but  this  was  nothing.  I  had 
not  advanced  another  two  hundred  yards,  when,  to  my  inexpressi- 
ble terror,,  amazement,  and  indignation.  I  again  beheld  Trabb's 
boy  approaching^  He  was  coming  round  a  narrow  emmer.  Hi  i 
blue  \^ng  was  slung  over  his  shoulder,  honest  industry  beamed  m 
his  <m  .  ,  a.  determination  to  proceed  to  Trabb's  with  .cheerful 
briskm- ■■■>  was  indicated  in  his  -ait.  With  a  shock  he  became 
awaie  i  ;  me,  and  wa  ■  seve  ely  visited  as  before;  but  this  time  his 
motion  was  rotary,  and  be  staggered   round  and   round  me  < 

e  afflicted,  and  with  uplifted  bands  as  if  beseeching  for 
mercy  Hi:  sufferings  were  hailed  with  the  greatest  joy  by  a  knot, 
of  spectators;  and  I  felt  uUe/iy  confounded. 

1  had  not  got  as  much  further  down  the  street  as  the  post-o ■". 
when  [  again  beheld  Trabb  s  boy  shooting  round   by  aback  way. 
This  time  ntirely  changed.     He  wore  the  blue  bag  in  the 

maimer  ol  .  at-coat,  and  was  strutring  along  tbe  pavement 

toward  me  on  ,    site  side,  of  the  street,  attended  by  a  com- 

pany 'of  delighted  young  friends  to  whom  he  from  time  to  time 
exclaimed,  with  a  waive  of  his  hand,  "  don't  know  yah  !"  Words 
can  not  si  at;'  the  amount  of  aggravation  and  injury  wreaked  upon 
me  by  Trabb's  boy,  when,  passing  abreast  of  me,  be  pulled  up  his 
shirt-collar,  twined  his  side  hair,  stuck  an  arm  akimbo,  and  smirk- 
ed extravagantly  by,  wriggling  Iris  elbows  and  body,  and  drawl- 
ing to  his  attendants,  "  Don't  know  yah,  don't  know  yah,  'pun 
n.»'  s*nl  tloa'fe  know  yah  I"     f?ha  disgrace  attejidan  t  ob  hia  im.m»- 


GRE  vT  EXPECTATIONS.  I9r 

diately  afterward  taking  to  crowing  and  pursuing  me  across  the 
bridge  with  crows  as  from  an  exceedingly  dejected  fojgl  who  had 
known  me  when  I  was  a  blacksmith.  cujtnigared  th*e  disgrace,  witli 
whieli  I  left  the  town,  and  was.  so  to  sneak,  ejeeied  by  it  into  the 
open  country. 

But  unless  I  had  taken  the  life  of  Trabh's  hoy  on  that  occasion, 
I  really  do' not  even  now  see  what  I  could  have  done  save  endure. 
To  have  struggled  with  him  in  the  street,  or  to  have  exacted  any 
lower  recompense  from  him  than  his  heart's  best  blond  w.uild 
have  been  futile  and  degrading.  Moreover  he  was  a  hoy  whom 
no  man  could  hurt  ;  an  invulnerable  and  dodging  serpent  who, 
when  chased  into  a  corner,  flew  out  again  between  his  captor's 
legs,  scornfully  yelping.  I  wrote,  however,  to  Mr.  Trabb  by 
next  day's  post,  to  say  that  3Ir.  Pip  must  decline  to  deal  further 
with  one  who  could  so  far  forget  what  he  owed  to  the  best  inter- 
ests of  society,  as  to  employ  a  hoy  who  excited  Loathing  in  every 
respectable  mind. 

The  coach,  with  Mr.  Jaggers  inside,  came  up  in  due  time,  and 
1  tool;  my  box-seat  again,  and  arrived  in  London  safe — but  not 
sound,  for  my  heart  was  gone.  As  soon  as  1  arrived  I  sen'  a 
penitential  codiish  and  a  barrel  of  oysters  to  Joe  (as  reparation 
for  not  having  gene  myself),  and  then  went  on  to  Laniard's  Inn.- 

1  found  Herbert  dining  on  cold  meat,  and  delighted  to  welcome 
me  back.  Having  dispatched  the  Avenger  to  the  coffee-house  for 
an  addition  to  the  dinner.  1  fell  that  \  must  open  my  breast  that 
every  evening  to  my  friend  and  chum.  As  confidence  was  out  of 
the  question  with  the  Avanger  Sn  the  hall,  which  eoivd  merely  be 
regarded  in  the  light  of  an  ante-chamber  1o  the  keyhole,  I  sent  him 
to  the  Llay.  A  better  proof  of  the  severity  of  my  bondage  to 
that  task-master  could  scarcely  be  afforded  than  the  degrading 
shifts  to  which  1  was  constantly  driven  to  find  him  employment. 
Mt  mean  is  extremity  thai-  (  sometimes  sent  him  to  Hyde  Park 
corner  to  see  what  o'clock  it  was. 

Dinner  done  and  we  sitting  with  our  feet  upon  the  fender,  I  said 
to  Herbert,  ''  My  dear  Herbert,  I  have  something  very  particular 
to  tell  you." 

!.'  My  dear  Handel,"  he  returned,  "  [  shall  esteem  and  respect 
your  confidence." 

"  It  concerns  myself,  Herbert,"'  said  I,  "and  one  other  person." 

Herbert  crossed  his  feet,  looked  at  the  fine  with  his  head  on  one 
side,  and  having  looked  at  it  in  vain  for  some  time,  looked  at  me 
because  I  didn't  go  on. 

"Herbert,"  said  I,  laying  my  hand  upon  his  knee.  "I  love — 
I  adore — Lstella." 

Instead  of  befog  transfixed,  Herbert  replied  in  an  easy,  matter- 
of-course  way.  "Exactly.     Well?" 

"  Well,  Herbert  ?'     Is  that  all  vou  say  ?     Well  ?" 


198  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

".What  next,  I  mean?"  said  Herbert.  "Of  course  I  know 
that." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?"  said  I. 

"  How  do  I  know  it,  Handel  1     Why,  from  you." 

"  I  never  told  you." 

Told  me  !  You  have  never  told  me  when  you  have  got  your 
hair  cut,  hut  I  have  had  senses  to  perceive  it.  You  have  always 
adored  her,  ever  since  1  have  known  you.  You  brought  your 
adoration  and  portmanteau  here  together.  Told  me  !  Why  you 
have  always  told  me  all  day  long.  When  you  told  me  your  own 
story,  you  told  me  plainly  that  you  began  adoring  her  the  first 
time  you  saw  her,  when  you  were  very  young  indeed." 

'•  Very  well,  then,"  said  I,  to  whom  this  was  a  new  and  not 
unwelcome  light,  "  I  have  never  left  off  adoring  her.  And  she 
has  come  hack  a  most  beautiful  and  most  elegant  creature.  And 
1  saw  her  yesterday.  And  if  I  adored  her  before,  I  noW'doubly 
adore  her." 

"Lucky  for  you  then,  Handel,"  said  Herbert,  "that  you  are 
picked  out  for  her  and  allotted  to  her.  Without  encroaching  on 
forbidden  ground,  we  may  venture  to  say  that  there  can  be  no 
.doubt  between  ourselves  of  that  fact.  Have  you  any  idea  yet  of 
Estella's  views  on  the  adoration  question  ?  ' 

I  shook  my  head  gloomily.  "Oh!  she  is  thousands  of  miles 
away  from  me,"  said  I. 

"  Patience,  my  dear  Handel:  time  enough,  time  enough.  But 
you  have  something  more  to  say  V 

"  1  urn  ashamed  to  say  it,"  I  returned,  "and  yet  it's  no  worse 
to  say  it  than  to  think  it.  You  call  me  a  lucky  fellow.  Of  course, 
1  am.  i  was  a  blacksmith's  boy  but  yesterday  ;  T  am — what  shall 
1  say  I  am — to-day  ?" 

"  .Say  a  good  fellow,  if  you  want  a  phrase,"  returned  Herbert, 
smiling,  and  clapping  bis  hand  on  the  back  of  mine,  "  a  good  fel 
low  with  impetuosity  and  hesitation,  boldness  and  diffidence,  ac- 
tion and  dreaming,  curiously  mixed  in  him." 

I  stopped  for  a  moment  to  consider  whether  there  really  was 
this  mixture  in  my  character.  On  the  whole,  I  by  no  meaus  re- 
cognized the  analysis,  but  thought  it  not  worth  disputing. 

"When  I  ask  what  I  am  to  call  myself  to-day,  Herbert,"  I 
went  on,  "  I  suggest  what  I  have  in  my  thoughts.  You  say  I 
am  lucky.  I  know  I  have  done  nothing  to  raise  myself  in  life, 
and  that  Fortune  alone  has  raised  me;  that  is  being  very  lucky. 
And  yet,  when  I  think  of  Estella— " 

("  And  when  don't  yon,  you  know  ?"  Herbert  threw  in,  with 
his  eves  on  the  fire;  which  I  thought  kind  and  sympathetic  of 
him.) 

"  —  Then,  my  dear  Herbert,  I  can  not  tell  you  how  dependent 
and  uncertain  1  feel,  and  how  exposed  to   hundreds  of  chances. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS'  199 

Avoiding  forbidden  ground  as  you  did  just  now,  I  may  still  say 
that  on  the  constancy  of  one  person  (naming  no  person)  all  my 
expectations  .depend.     And  best,  h.ow  indefinite"  and  un- 

satisfactory only  to  know  so  vaguely  what  they  are!"  In  saying 
this.  I  relieved  my  mind  of  what,  had  always  been  there,  more  or 
less,  though  no  doubl  most  Sipoe.  yesterday. 

"Now  Handel;"  Herbert  replied,  in  his  gay,  hopeful  way,  '-it 
sinus  to  me  that  in  the  despondency  of  the  lender  passion  we  are 
looking  into  our  gift-horses  mouth  with  a  magnifying-glass.  Like- 
wise, it  seems  1o  me  that  concentrating  our  attention  on  thai  examina- 
tion we  altogether  overlook  one  of  the  best  points  of  the  animal. — 
Didn't  you  tell  me  that  your  guardian,  Mr.  daggers,  told  you  in  the  be- 
ginning .thai  youwerenm  endowed  withexpeetaiions  only  ?  And  even 
if  lie  had  not  told  you  so — though  that  is  a  very  large  It',  I  grant  — 
could  you  believe  that,  of  all  men  in  London,  Mr.  Jaggers  is  the 
man  to  hold  his  present  relations  toward  you  unless  he  were  sure 
of  his  ground  ?  " 

I  said  that  1  could  not  deny  that  this  was  a  strong  point,  1  said 
it  (people  often  do  so,  in  such  eases)  like  a  rather  reluctant  conces- 
sion to  truth  and  justice — as  if  1  wanted  to  deny  il  ! 

"1  should,  think  [twos  a  strong  poiut,"  said  Herbert,  "  and  I 
should  think  you  would  bepuzzled  to  imagine  a  stronger;  as  to 
the  rest,  you  must,  hide  your  guardian's  time,  and  he  must  bide  his 
client's  time.  You'll  be  one-and-twenty  before  you  know  where 
you  are,  and  then  perhaps  you'Tfi  get  some  further  enlightenment. 
At  all  events,  you'll  be  nearer  getting  ir.  for  it  must  come  at  last.'' 

"  What  a  hopeful  disposition  you  hafce  !  '  sud  1.  gratefully  ad- 
miring his  cheery  ways. 

"  1  ought  to  have,"  said  Herbert,  "for  I  have  not  much  else. — 
1  must  acknowledge,  by-the-by,  that  the  good  sense  of  what  1  have 
just  said  is  Dot  my  own,  but  my  father's.  The  only  remark  that  I 
ever  heard  him  make  on  your  story  was  the  final  one  :  '  The  thing 
is  settled  and  done,  or  Mr.  Jaggers  would  not  be  in  It.'  And  now 
before  1  say  any  thing  more  about,  my  father  or  my  father's  son, 
and  repa\  confidence  with  coutid  -nee,  I  want,  to  make  myself  se- 
riously disagreeable  to  you  for  a  momerit — positively  repulsive.' 

"  You  won't  succeed,"  said    I. 

'.'(  >ii  yes  1    shall  !  "  said  he.     "One.  two,  three,  and   now  1  am 

in  for  it.     Handel,  my  good  fellow  " — though  he  spoke  in  this  light 

he  was  much  in  earnest — "  1  have  been  thinking  sipcewehave 

talking  with  our  feet  on  this  fender,  that  Esteila  surely  cannot 

condition  of,  your  inheritance,  if  she  was  never  referred  to  by 

your  guardian.     Am  1  right  in   so  understanding  what  you   have 

told  me.  as  that   he  never  referred   to  her,  directly  or  indirectly,  in 

any  way  I     Xever  even  hinted,  for  instance,  that  your  patron  might 

have  views  as  to  your  marriage  ultimately  ?  " 

"  Xever."' 


800  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Now,  Handel,  I  am  quite  free  from  the  flavor  of  sour  grapes, 
upon  my  soul !  Not  being  bound  to  her,  can  you  not  detach  your- 
self from  her  1 — I  told  you  I  should  be  disagreeable." 

I  turned  my  head  aside,  tor,  with  a 'rush  and  a  sweep,  like  the 
old  marsh  winds  coming  up  from  the  sea,  a  feeling  like  that  which 
had  subdued  me  on  the  morning  when  I  left  the  forge,  when  the 
mists  were  solemnly  rising,  and  when  I  laid  my  hand  upon  the 
village  finger-post,  smote  upon  my  heart  again.  There  was  silence 
between  us  frr  a  little  while. 

"Yes,  but  my  dear  Handel,"  Herbert  went  on,  as  if  we  had  been 
talking  instead  of  silent,  "it's  having  been  so  strongly  rooted  in 
the  breast  of  a  boy  whom  nature  and  circumstances  made  so  'ro- 
mantic renders  it  very  serious.  Think  of  her  hringing-up,  and  think 
of  Miss  Havisham.  Think  of  what  she  is  herself  (now  I  am  re- 
pulsive, and  you  abominate  me).  This  may  lead  to  miserable 
things." 

"  I  know  it,  Herbert  "  saicl  I,  with  my  head  still  turned  away, 
"but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  You  can't  detach  yourself?  " 

"  No.     Impossible  !  " 

"  You  can't  try,  Handel  % " 

"No.     Impossible!" 

"Well !  "  said  Herbert,  getting  up  with  a  lively  shake  as  if  he 
had  been  asleep,  and  stirring  the  fire,  "now  I'll  endeavor  to  make 
myself  agreeable  again." 

•So  he  went  around  the  room  and  shook  the  curtains  out,  put  the 
chairs  in  their  places,  tid#d  the  book*  and  so  forth  that  were  lying 
about,  looked  into  the  hall,  peeped  into  the  letter-box,  shut  the 
door,  and  came  back  to  his  chair  by  the  fire  ;  where  he  sat  down, 
nursing  his  left  leg  in  both  arms. 

"I  was  going  to  say  a  word  or  two,  Handel,  concerning  my 
father  and  my  father's  son.  I  am  afraid  it  is  scarcely  necessary  for 
my  father's  son  to  remark  that  my  father's  establishment  is  not 
particularly  brilliant  in  its  housekeeping." 

"  There  is  always  plenty,  Herbert,"  said  I :  to  say  something 
encouraging. 

"  Oil  yes  !  and  so  the  dustman  says,  I  believe,  with  the  strong- 
est approval,  and  so  does  the  marine  store-shop  in  the  back  street. 
Gravely,  Handel,  for  the  subject  is  grave  enough  ;  you  know  how 
it  is  as  well  as  I  do.  I  suppose  there  was  a  time  once  when  my 
father  had  not  given  matters  up  ;  but  if  there 'ever  was,  the  time 
is  gone.  May  I  ask  you  if  you  have  ever  had  an  opportunity  of 
remarking  down  in  your  part  of  the  country,  that  the  children  of 
not  exactly  suitable  marriages  are  always  most  particularly  anxious 
to  be  married  1 " 

This  was  such  a  singular  question  that  I  asked  him  in  return, 
"  Is  it  so  ?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  20  J 

"I  don't  kuow,"  said  Herbert;  "that's  what  I  want  to  know. 
Because  it  is  decidedly  the  case  with  us.  My  poor  sister  Char- 
lotte, who  was  next  me  and  died  before  slid  was  fb'urtqen,  was  a 
striking  example.  Little  Jane  is  (he  same.  In  her  desire  I 
matrimonially  established,  you  might  suppose  Iut  to  have  passed 
her  short  existence  in  the  perpetual  contemplation  of  "domestic  bliss. 
Little  Alick,  in  a  Frock,  has  already  made  arrangements  for  his  un- 
ion with  a  suitable  yefung  person  at  Kew.  And  indeed.  I  think 
we  are  alt, Engaged  except  the  baby." 

•■  Tiien  you  are."  said  I. 

••  I  am,"  said  Herbert,  "bul  it's  a  secret." 

I  assured  him  of  my  keeping  the  secret,  and  begged   I 
vnred  with    further   particulars.      lie    had  spoken  so  sensibly   and 
feelingly  of  my  weakness,  ihat  I  wanted  to  know  something  about 
his  strength. 

"  May  I  ask  the  name  ?  **  I   said. 

"Name  of  Clara,"  said  Herbert. 

"Live  in   London  !  " 

"Yes.  Perhaps  ]  ought  to  mention,"  said  Herbert,  who  had 
become  curiously  crestfallen  and  meek  since  we  entered  oji  the  in- 
teresting theme,  "thai  she  is  rather  below  my  mother's  nonsensical 
family  notions.  Her  father  had  to  do  with  the  vitualing  of  pas- 
senger-ships     1  think  he  was  a  species  oi  purser." 

••  What  is  lie  now  !  "  said  I. 

"lie's  an  Invalid  now,"  replied  Herbert. 

"  Living  on   -  I  " 

"On  the  first  floor,"  said  Herbert.  Which  was  not  at  all  what 
I  meant,  for  1  had  intended  my  question  to  apply  to  his  means, 
"t  have  never  seen  him,  lor  he  lias  always  k.  pt  his  room  over- 
head since  I  have  known  Clara.  Pmt  I  have  heard  him  con 
>;autly.  lie  makes  tremendous  rows — roars,  and  pegs  at  the  door 
with  some  frightful  instrument."  in  looking  at  me  and  then 
laughing  heartily,  Herbert  for  the  time  recovered  his  usual  lively 
manner, 

"Don't  you  expect  to  see  him  ?"  said  I. 

"Oh  yes,  I  constantly  expect  to  see  him,"  returned  Herbert,  "be- 
cause I  never  hear  him  without  expectimr  him  to  come  tumbling 
through  the  ceiring:  Hut  1  don't  know  bow  long  the  rafters  may 
hold." 

When  we  bad  once  mere  laughed  heartily  he  became  ra^ek  again, 
and  told  me  the  moment  that  he  began  to  realize  Capital  it 
his  intention  to  marry  this  young  lAly.     He  added,  as  a  self-evi- 
dent proposition,  engendering   low  spirits,  "  But    \v\\   caiii  marry, 
you  know,  while  you're  looking  about  you." 

As  we  contemplated  the  lire,  and  as  I  thought  what  a  diliicuit 
vision  to  realize  this  same  capital  sometimes  was,  i -put  my  hands 
in  my  pockets.     A  folded  piece  of  prtpeu  in  one  of  them  attracting 


202  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

my  attention,  I  opened  it,  and  found  it  to  be  the  playbill  I  had 
received  from  Joe,  relative  to  the  celebrated  provincial  amateur  of 
Roseian  renown.  "  And,  bless  my  heart !  "  I  involuntarily  added 
aloud,  "  it's  to-night !  " 

This  changed  the  subject  in  an  instant,  and  made  us  hurriedly 
resolve  to  go  to  the  play.  So,  when  I  had  pledged  myself  to 
comfort  and  abet  Herbert  in  the  affair  of  his  heart  by  all  practi- 
cable and  impracticable  means,  and  when  Herbert  told  me  that 
his  affianced  already  knew  me  by  reputation,  and  that  I  should  short- 
ly be  presented  to  her,  and  when  we  had  warmly  shaken  hands  up- 
on our  mutual  confidence,  we  blew  out  our  handles,  made  up  pur 
fire,  locked  our  door,  and  issued  forth  in  quest  of  Mr.  Wopsle  in 
Denmark. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

On  our  arrival  in  Denmark  we  found  the  king  and  queen  of 
that  country  elevated  in  two  arm  chairs  on  a  small  kitchen-table, 
holding  a  Court.  The  whole  of  the  Danish  nobility  were  in  at- 
tendance ;  consisting  of  a  noble  boy  in  the  wash  leather  boots  of 
a  gigantic  ancestor,  a  venerable  Peer  with  a  dirty  face,  who  seem- 
ed to  have  risen  from  the  people  late  in  life,  and  the  Danish  chiv- 
alry with  a  comb  in  its  hair  and  a  pair  of  white  silk  legs,  and  pre- 
senting on  the  whole  a  feminine  appearance.  My  gifted  towns- 
man stood  gloomily  apart,  with  folded  arms,  and  I  could  have 
wished  that  his  curls  and  forehead  had  been  more  probable. 

Several  curious  little  circumstances  transpired  as  the  action 
proceeded.  The  late  king  of  the  country  not  only  appeared  to 
have  been  troubled  with  a  cough  at  the  time  of  his  decease,  but 
to  have  taken  it  with  him  to  the  tomb  and  to  have  brought  ii 
back.  The  royal  phantom  also  carried  a  ghostly  manuscript 
round  its  truncheon,  to  which  it  had  the  appearance  of  occasion- 
ally referring,  and  that,  too,  with  an  air  of  anxiety  and  a  tendency 
to  lose  the  place  of  referent  which  wer.e  suggestive  of  a  state  of 
mortality.  It  was  this,  1  conceive,  which  led  to  the  Shade's  be- 
ing advised  by  the  gallery  to  "turn  over!" — a  recommendation 
which  it  took  extremely  ill.  It  was  likewise  1o  be  noted  of  this 
majestic  spirit  that  whereas  it  always  appeared  with  an  air  of 
having  been  out  a  long  time  and  walked  an  immense  distance,  it 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  203 

perceptibly  came  from  a  closely  contiguous  wall.  Tin's  occasion- 
ed its  terrors  to  he  received  derisively.  The  Queen  of  Denmark, 
a  very  buxom  lady,  though  rio  doubt  historically  b raze nl- was  con- 
sidered h\  ilie  piddle  to  have  too*'much  brass  about  her;  her  chin 
being  attached  to  her  diadem  by  a  br.oad  baud  pf  that  metal  (as 
ii'  slie  bad  a  gorgeous  toothache),  her  waist  being  e^icirc  ed  by 
another,  and  eachtof  her  arms  by  another,  so  that  she  was  openly 
mentioned  as  "the  kettle  drum."  The  noble  boy  in  the  ancestral 
boots  was  inconsistent,  representing  himself,  as  it,  were  iq  one 
breath,  as  an  able  seaman,  a  scrolling  actor,  a  grave-digger,  a 
cjerg ;;,  man.  and  a  person  of  the  utmost   important  loiirt 

fencing-match,  on  the  authority  of  whose  practised  eye  and  nice 
discrimination  thelinest  strokes  were  judged.  This  gradually  led 
to  a  waul  .of  toleration  for  him,  and  even — on  his  being  delected 
in  holy  orders,  and  declining  to  perform  the  funeral  service — to 
the  genera;  indignation  taking  the  form  of  nuts.  Lastly,  Ophelia 
Was  a  prey  to  such  slow  musical  madness,  that  when,  in  cours* 
time,  she  had  taken  ofl"  her  white  muslin  scarf,  folded  it  up,  and 
buried  it,  a  sulky  man  who  had  been  long  cooling  his  impatieui 
nose  against  an  iron  bar  in  the  front  row  of  the  gadery,  growled, 
"Now  the  baby's  put  to  bed  let  s  have  supper !"  which,  to  saj 
the  least  of  d,  was  out,  of  keeping. 

Upon  my  untortunate  townsman  all  these  incidents  accumula- 
ted with  playful  effect.     Whenever  that  undecided  Prince  had  to 
ask  a  question  or  state  a  doubt,  the  pub  ie  helped  him  out  with  ii. 
As  tor  example  :  on  the  question  whether  'twas  nobler  in  the  mind 
to  sutler,  some  roarejj  yes,  and   some  no,  and  some   inclining  to 
both  opinions  said,  "toss  up  for  it  ;"  and  unite  a  Debating  Socie 
1y   arose.      'When   he  asked    what    should   such   fellows,  as  i 
crawling  between  earth  and  heaven,  he  was  encouraged  with  loud 
cries   of  "Dear,   hear!"      When   he  appeared  with    his  stocking 
disordered  (its  disorder  expressed,  according  to  usage,  by  pne  very 
neat  told  in  the  top,  which  I  suppose  to  be  always  got  up  with  a 
flat-iron),  a'  conversation  took  place  in  the  gallery  respecting  the 
paleness  of  his  kg.  and  whether  it  was  occasioned  by  Mm  turn  the 
ghost    had  given   him.     On  his  taking  t  he   recorders — very  I i 
little  black  flute  thai  had  just   been  payed   in   the  orchestra   and 
handed  out  at  the  door — in-  was  caked  upon  unanimously  for  Ride 
Britannia.     When  he  recommended  the  player  not.  to  saw  the 
tlms.  the  Vulky  man  said,  "And  don't  ybu  do  it,  neither;  you're 
a  deal  worse  than  h/m!"     And    1   grieve   tq  add   that,  peals  of 
laughter  greeted  Mr.  YVopsle  on  every  one  of  to  ions. 

ut  his  greatest  trials  were  in  the  church-yard,  which   had   the 

arauce  of  a  primeval  forest,  with  ;;  kind  of  small  ecclesiastical 

wash-house  on  otoe  side  and  a  turnpike-gate- on  the  •ther.     Mr. 

Wopsle,  in  a' comprehensive  black  cloak,  being  descried  entering 

at   the  turnpjke.  the  grave-digger  was  admonished  in  a  friendly 


204  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

way,  "  Look  out !  Here's  the  undertaker  a  coming  to  see  how 
you're  a  getting  on  with  your  work  !"  I  helieve  it  is  well  known 
in  a  constitutional  country  that  Mr.-  WojTsle  could  not  possibly 
have  returned  the  skull,  after  moralizing  over  it,  without  dusting 
his  fingers  on  a  white  napkin  taken  from  his  breast, ;  but  even  that 
innocent  and  indispensable  action  did  not  pass  without  the  'com- 
ment "  Wai-ter !"  The  arrival  of  the  body  fpr  interment,  in  an 
empty  black  box,  with  the  lid  tumbling  open,  was  the  signal  for  a 
general  joy,  which  was  much  enhanced  by  the  discovery,  among 
the  bearers,  of  an  individual  obnoxious  to  identification.  The  joy 
attended  Mr.  Wopsle  through  his  struggle  with  Laertes  on  the 
brink  of  the  orchestra  and  the  grave,  and  slackened  no  more  until 
he  had  tumbled  the  king  off  the  kitchen-table,  and  died  by  inches 
from  the  ankles  upward. 

We  had  made  some  pale  efforts  in  the  beginning  to  applaud 
Mr:  Wopsle;  but  they  were  too  .hopeless  to  be  persisted  in. 
Therefore  we  had  sat,-  feeling  keenly  lor  him,  but  laughing,  never- 
theless, from  ear  to  ear.  I  laughed  in  spite  of  myself  all  the  time, 
the  whole  thing  was  so  droll  ;  and  yet  I  had  a  latent  impression 
that  there  was  something  decidedly  fine  in  Mr.  Wopsle's  elocution 
— not  for  old  associations'  sake,  I  am  afraid,  but  because  it  was 
very  slow,  very  dreary,  very  up-hill  and  down-hill,  and  very  un- 
like any  way  in  which  any  man  in  any  natural  circumstances  of 
life  or  death  ever  expressed  himself  about  any  thing.'  When  the 
tragedy  was  over,  and  he  had  been  called  for  and  hooted,  1  said 
to  Herbert,  "Let  us  go  at  once,  or  perhaps  we  shall  meet  him." 

We  made  all  the  haste  we  cpuld  down  stairs,  but  we  were  not 
quick  enough  either.  Standing  at  the  door  was  a  Jewish  man 
With  an  unnaturally  heavy  smear  of  eyebrow,  who  caught  my  eye 
as  we  advanced,  and  said,  when  we  came  up  with  him  : 

"Mr.  Lip  and  friend?" 

Identity  of  Mr.  Pip  and  friend  confessed. 

"Mr.  Waldengarver,"  said  the  man,  "would  be  glad  to  have 
the  honor." 

"  Waldengarver  ?"  I  repeated — when  Herbert  murmured  in  my 
ear,  "  Probably  Wopsle.' 

"  Oh  !"  said  I.     "  Yes.     Shall  we  follow  you  ?'■ 

"A  few  steps,  please."  When  we  were  in  a  side  alley,  be 
turned  and  asked,  "How  did  you  think  he  looked-? — I  dressed 
him." 

I  don't  know  what  he  had  looked  like,  except  a  funeral;  with 
the  addition  of  a  large  Danish  order  hanging  round  his  neck  by  a 
blue  ribbon,  that  had  given  him  the  appearance  of  being  insured  jn 
some  extraordinary  Fire  Office.  But  I  said  he  had  looked  very 
nice. 

"  When  he  come  to  the  grave,"  said  our  conductor,  "  he  show- 
ed his  cloak  beautiful.     But,  judging  from  the  wing,  it  looked  to 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  W5 

me  that  when  he  see  the  ghost  in  the  queen's  apartment,  he  might 
have  made  more  of  his  stockings." 

T  modestly  assented,  and  we  all  fell  through  alittle  dirty  swing- 
door,  into  a  sort  of  hot  packing-ease  immediately  hehind  it.  Here 
Mr.  Wopsle  was  divesting  himself  of  bis  Danish  garments,  and 
here  there  was  just  room  lor  ns  to  look  at  him  over  one  another's 
shoulders,  hy  keeping  the  packing-case  door,  or  lid,  wide  open. 

"  Gentlemen, M*  said  Mr.  Wopsle,   "1  am   proud  to  see  you.     I 
hope,  Mr.  Pip.  you    wi.l   excuse  my   sending  round.      I   had  the 
happiness  to  know  \on  in  former  times,  and  the  Drama  has  ever 
had  a  claim  which   has  ever  been  acknowledged,  on  the  noble  and. 
the  affluent, 

Meanwhile.  Mr  Waldengarver,  in  a  frightful  perspiration,  was 
trying  to  get  himself  out  ol  his  princely  sables. 

"  Skin  rh.e  stockings  off,  Mr.  Waldengarver,"  said  the  owner 
of  that  property,  "or  you'll  bust  Cm,  and  you'll  bust  live-and- 
thirty  shillings.  Shak'speare  never  was  complimented  with  a  finer 
pair.     Keep  ipiiet  in  your  chair  now,  and    cave  'em  to  me." 

With  that  lie  went  upon  his  knees,  and  began  to  flay  his  vic- 
ti:  i;  who,  on  the  first  stocking  QOWing  Off,  woifld  certainly  have 
fa  len  over  backward  with  bis  chair,  but  for  there  being  no  room 
to  fall  anyhow. 

I  had  been  afraid  until  then  to  say  a  word  about  the  play. — 
But  when  Mr.  Walaengarvei"  looked  up  at  us  complacently,  anil 
s;;id. 

".Gentlemen,  how  did  it  s  em  to  you  to  go,  in  front  !" 

Herbert  said  from  behind  (at  the  same  time  poking  me),  "capi- 
tally."    So  I  said  "capitally." 

"How  did  you  like  my  Heading  of  the  character  gentlemen?" 
said  Mr.  "Waldengarver,  almost,  if  not   quite,  with  patronage. 

Herbert  said  from  behind  (again  poking  me),  "massive  and  ex- 
So   1  said  boldly,  asif  1  had  originated  it,  and  must  in- 
sist upon  it.  "  massive  and  excellent." 

'•  i    am   glad   to    have   your   approbation,    gentlemen,"  said 
"Waldengarver,  with  an  air  of  dignity,  in  spite  of  his  being  ground 
si  the  wall  at   the   line,  and  holding   on    b\  the   seat   of  fhe 
chair. 

-  1'mt  i'il  tell  you  one  thing,  Yrr.  Waldengarver."  said  the  man 
wim  was  on  his  knees,  "in  which  you're  out  in  your  reading.     E 

1  den",  care  who  sa^  s  contrairy  ;  I  tell  you  so.  You're  out 
in  your  reading  of  Hamlet  when  you  gel  your  legs  in  prtffle.  The 
1  dressed,  made  tfle  same  mistakes  in  his  reading 
at  rehearsal,  till  1  got  him  to  put  a  large  red  v  afer  on  each  of 
ins,  and  then  at  that  rehearsel  (which  was  the  last)  I  was  in 
front,  sir.  to  the  heck  of  the  pit,  and  whenever  his  Heading  broughl 
hire  into  profile  I  '1   don't  see  no  waters!'     And  at 

night  hi*  reading  was  Lovely." 


206  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Mr.  Waldengarver  smiled  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say, "A  faithful 
dependent — I  overlook  his  folly ;  "  and  then  said  aloud,  "My  view 
is  a  little  ('lassie  and  thoughtful  for  them  here;  but  they  will  im- 
prove, they  will  improve." 

Herbert  and  I  said  together,  Oh,  no  doubt  they  would  improve. 
."Did  you  observe,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Waldengarver,-"  that 
there  was  a  man  in  the  gallery  who  endeavored  to  cast  derision  on 
the  service — I  mean,  the  representation  1 " 

We  basely  replied  that  we  rather  thought  we  had  noticed  such 
a  man.     I  added,  "  He  was  drunk,  no  doubt," 

"  Oh  dear  no,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wopsle,  "  not  drunk.  His  employ- 
'er  would  see  to  that,  Sir.  .  His  employer  would  not  allow  him  to 
be  drunk." 

"  You  know  his  employer  ?"  said  I. 

Mr.  Wopsle  shut  his  eyes,  and  opened  them  again  ;  performing 
both  ceremonies  very  slowly.  "You  must  have  observed,  gentle- 
men," said  he,  "an  ignorant  and  blatant  ass,  with  a  rasping  throat. 
and  a  countenance  expressive  of  low  malignity,  who  went  through 
— 1  will  not  say  sustained — the  role  (if  1  may  use  a  French  ex- 
pression) of  Claudius  King  o!  Denmark.  That  is  his  employer, 
gentlemen.     Such  is  the  profession  !" 

Without  distinctly  knowing  whether  I  should  have  been  more 
sorry  for  Mr.  Wopsle  if  he  had  been  in  despair,  I  was  so  sorry  for 
him  as  it  was,  that  I  took  the  opportunity  of  his  turning  round'to 
have  his  braces  put  on — which  jostled  us  out  at  the  door-way — 
fo  ask  Herbert  what  he  thought  of  having  him  home  to  supper? — 
Herbert  said  he  thought  it  would  be  kind  to  do  so  ;  therefore  I 
invited  him,  and  he  went  to  Barnard's  with 'us,  wrapped  up  to  the 
eyes,  and  we  did  our  best  for  him,  and  he  sat  until  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  reviewing  his  success  and  developing  his  plans.  1 
forget  in  detail  what  they  were,  but  I  have  a  general  recollection 
that  he  was  to  begin  with  reviving  the  Drama,  and  to  end  with 
crushing  it;  inasmuch  as  his  decease  would  leave  it  utterly  bereft 
and  without  a  chance  pr  hope. 

Miserably  I  went  to  bed  after  all,  and  miserably  I  thought  of 
Estella,  and  miserably  dreamed  that  my  expectations  were  all  can- 
celed, and  that  I  had  to  give  my  hand,  in  marriage  to  Herbert's 
Clara,  or  play  Hamlet  to  Miss  Havisham's  Ghost  before  twenty 
thousand  people  without  knowing  twenty  words  of  it. 


GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  207 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Oak  day  when  I  was  busy  with  my  books  and  TVfr.  Pocket,  f 
received  a  note  by  the  post",  (he  mere  outside  of  which  threw  me 
into  a  great  duller:  'for,  though  1  had  never  seen  the  handwriting 
in  which  it  was  addressed,  1  divined  whose  hand  it  was.  It  had 
no  set  beginning,  as  Dear  Mr.  Tip,  or  Dear  Pip,  or  Dear  Sir,  or 
Dear  Anything,  but  ran  thus: 

••  I  am  to  come  to  London  the  day  after  to-morrow  by  the  mid- 
Qoaclf,      I    helicve  it  was  settled  you  should   meet  me  1  al    all 
events  Miss  Havisham  has  that  impression,  and  I  write  in  obejdi- 
.  >  it.     She  scuds  you  her  regards. 

Yours,  Esviolla. 

If  there  had  been  lime,  1  should  probably  have  ordered  several 
suits  of  clothes  for  this  occasion  ;  but  as  there  was  not,  1  was  fain' 
;o  lie  content  with  those  I  had.  My  appetite  vanished  instantly, 
!  knew  no  peace  or  rest  until  the  day  arrived.  Not  that  its 
arrival  brought  me  either  ;  for  then  I  was  worse  than  ever,  and  be- 
gan haunting  the  coach-office  in  Wood  Street,  Okeapside,  before 
the  coach  had  left  the  Blue  lSoar  in  our  town.  For  all  that  I  knew 
this  perfectly  well,  I  still  felt  as  if  it  were  not  safe  to  let  the 
coach-office  he  out  of  my  sight  longer  than  five  minutes  at.  a  time; 
and  in  this  condition  of  unreason  1  had  performed  the  first  half- 
hour  of  a  watch  of  four  or  five  hours,  when  Mr.  Weinmiek  ran 
against  me. 

••  Halloa,  Mr.  Tip,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  do  1  I  should  hardly 
have  thought  this  was  yput  heat." 

I  explained  that  1  was  waiting  to  meet  somebody  who  was  coin- 
ing Up   by  coach,  and   1  inquired  after  the  Castle  and   the  Aged: 

"  Hot  h 'flourishing,  thank  ye,"  said  Wemmick,  "and  particularly 
the  Aired,  lie's  iii  wonderful  feather.  He'll  he  eighty-two  next 
birthday.  1  have  a  notion  of  tiring  eighty-two  times,  if  I  he  neigh- 
borhood shouldn't  coi!i]i!;iin,  and  that  cannon  of  mine  should  prove 
equal  to  the  pressure.  However,  this  is  not  London  talk.  Where 
do  \  on  think  1  am  going  to  !"' 

"To  the  iid   I,  for  he  was  tending  in  that  direction. 

e.\t  thing  to  it,'   returned  Wemmick,  "1  am  going  to  New- 
We  are  in  a  bauker's-parcel  case  just  at  present,  and  1  have 
been  down  the  road  taking  a  squint  at  tfie  abene  of  action,  and  there- 
upon must  have  a  word  or  two  with  our  client." 

•  I M  your  client  cnniuiit  the  robbery  I"  I  a&ked. 


•208  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Bless  your  soul  and  body,  no,"  answered  Wemmick,  very  drily. 
"  But  he  is  accused  of  it.  So  might  you  or  I  be.  Either  of  us 
might  be  accused  of  it,  you  know." 

"Only  neither  of  us  is,"  I  remarked. 

"  Yah  !  "  said  Wemmick,  touching  me  on  the  breast  with  his 
forefinger ;  "  you're  a  deep  one,  Mr.  Pip  !  Would  you  like  to  have 
a  look  at  "Newgate  1     Have  you  time  to  spare  1 " 

I  had  so  much  time  to  spare  that  toe  proposal  came  as  a  relief, 
i  t  withstanding  its  unreconcilability  with  my  latent  desire  to  keep 
my  eye  on  the  coach-office.  Muttering  that  I  would  make  the  in- 
quiry whether  I  had  time  to  wall:  with  him,  I  went  into  the  office 
ascertained  from  the  clerk,  with  the  nicest  precision  and  much 
be  trying  of  his  temper,  the  earliest  moment  at  which  the  coach 
couYd  he  expected — which  I  knew  beforehand  quite  as  well  as  he. 
i  then  rejoined  Mr.  Wemmick,  and  affecting  to  consult  my  watch 
and  to  be  surprised  by  the  information  I  had  received,  accepted 
ffer. 

We  were  at  Newgate  in  a  few  minutes,  and  we  passed  through 
the  lodge  where  some  fetters  were  hanging  up  on  the  bare  walls 
among  the  prison  rules  into  the  interior  of  the  jail.  At  that  time 
the  jails  were  much  neglected,  and  the  period  of  exaggerated  re- 
actinn  consequent  on  all  public  wrong-doing — and  which  is  always 
its  heaviest  and  longest  punishment — was  still  far  off.  So  felons 
were  not  lodged  and  fed  better  than  soldiers  (to  say  nothing  of 
paupers),  and  seldom  set  fire  to  their  prisons  with  the  excusable  ob- 
jeet  of  improving  the  flavor  of  their  soup.  It  was  visiting  time 
when  Wemmick  rook  mo  in;  and  a  potman  -was  going  his  rounds 
with  beer;  and  the  prisoners  behind  bars  in  yards  were  buying 
beer  and  talking  to  friends ;  and  a  frouzy,  ugly,  disorderly,  de- 
pressing scene  it  Was. 

It  struck  me  that  Wemmick  walked  among  the  prisoners  much 
as  a  gardener  might  walk  among  his  plants.  This  was  first  put 
into  my  head  by  his  seeing  a  shout  that  had  come  up  in  the  night, 
and  saying.  '  AVhat,  Captain  Tom?  Are  you  there?  Ah,  in- 
deed !  '  and  also,  "  Is  that  Black  Bill  behind  the  cistern  1  Why, 
I  didn't  look  for  you  these  two  months;  how  do  you  find  your- 
self?" Equally  in  his  stopping  at  the  bars  and  arrending  to 
anxious  whisperers — always  singly — Wemmick,  with  Ids  post-office 
in  an  immoveable  state,  looked  at  them  while  in  conference  as  if 
he  were  taking  particular  notice  of  the  advance  they  had  made,  since 
last  observed,  toward  coming  out  in  full  blow  at  their  trial. 

He  was  highly  popular,  and  I  found  that  he  took  the  familiar 
department  of  Mr.  Jaggers's  business;  though  something  of  the 
state  of  Mr.  Jaegers  hung  about  him  too,  forbidding  approach  be- 
yond certain  limits.  His  personal  recognition  of  each  successive 
client  was  comprised  in  a  nod,  and  in  his  settling  his  hat  a  little 
easier  qu  his  head  with  both  liaads,  and  limn  tightening  tha  po&fc. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  *J9 

office,  and  putthjg  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  In  one  or  two  in- 
stances there  was  a  difficulty  respepting  the  raising  of  fees,  and 
then  Mr.  Wemmick,  backing  as  far  as  possible  from  the  insufficient 
money  produced,  said,  "  li's  no  use.  my  hoy.  I'm  only  a  subordi- 
nate. I  can't  take  it.  Don't  go  on  in  that  way  with  a  subordi- 
nate. If  you  arc  unable  to  snake  up  your  quantum,  my  hoy.  you 
had  better  address  yourself  to  a  principal  ;  there  are  plenty  of  prin- 
cipals in  the  profession,  you  know,  and  what  is  not  worth  the  while 
of  one  may  lie  worth  ihe  while  of  another — that's  my  recommen- 
dation to  you,  speaking  as  a  subordinate.  Don't,  try  on  useless 
measures.     Why  should  you  !     Now,  who's  next  ?" 

Thus  we  walked  through  Wemmick's  green-house  until  he  turn- 
ed to  me  and  said,  "  Notice  the  man  I  shall  shake  hands  with." 
I  should  have  done  so  without  the  preparation  as  he, had  shaken 
hands  with  no  one  yet. 

Almost  as  soon  as  he  had  spoken,  a  portly  upright  man  (whom  1 
can  see  now  as  I  write)  in  a  well-worn,  olive-colored  frock-coat, 
with  a  peculiar  palor  overspreading  the  red  in  his  complexion,  and 
eyes  that  went  wandering-  about  when  he  tried  to  fix  them,  came 
up  to  a  corner  of  the  bars,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  hat — which 
Inula  greasy  and  fatty  surface  like  cold  broth — with  a  half  serious 
and  half  jocose  military  salute. 

"  Colonel  10  you  !"  said  Wemmick ;  "how  are  you,  Colonel  ?  " 

"All  right,  Mr.  Wemmick." 

"Every  thing  was  done  that  could  be  done,  but  the  evidence  was 
loo  strong  f 'f  us,  Colonel." 

"  Yes,  it  was  too  strong,  Sir — but  /don't  care." 

"No.  no.'  said  Wemmick  coolly,"y»W  don't  care."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  me,  "  Served  His  Majesty  this  man.  Was  a  soldier  in  the 
line  and   bought  bis  discharge.'' 

i  Baid,  ••  indeed  ["  and  the  man's  eyes  looked  over  my  head,  and 
ihen  looked  all  around  me,  and  then  he  drew  his  hand    across  his 

lips  and  laii  rhTed. 

•'  1  think   1  shall  he  off  on  Monday,  sir,"  he  said  to  Wemmick. 

"  Perhaps/'  returned  my  friend,  "but  there's  no  knowing.'' 

"  I  am  gl  id  to  have  the  chance  of  bidding  yon  good-hy,  Mr. 
Wemmick,"  said  the  man,  stretching  out  bis  hand  between  two 
bars. 

"  Than!;  ye,"  said  "Wemmick,  shaking  bands  with  bim.  "  Same 
to  you,  Colonel." 

"  If  what  I  had  upon  me  when  taken  bad  been  real,  Mr.  Wem- 
mick," said  the  man,  unwilling  to  let  his  band  go,  "  I  should  have 
asked  the  favor  of  your  wearing  another  ring — iu  acknowledgment 
of  your  alti  ntion." 

"I'll  accept  the  will  for  the  deed,"  said  Wemmick.  "By-the- 
by,  you  \v<  re  quite  a  pigeon-fancier."  The  man  looked  up  at 
the  sky.  "  .1  am  told  you  had  a  remarkable  breed  of  tumblers. — 
U 


HiO  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Could  you  commission  any  friend  of  yours  to  bring  me  a  pair,  if 
you've  no  further  use  for  'em  1  " 

"  It  shall  be  done,  Sir." 

"All  right,"  said  Wemmick,  "they  shall  be  taken  care*  of. — 
Good-afternoon,  Colonel.  fi<iod-by  !  '"  They  shook  hands  again, 
and  as  we  walked  away  Wemmick  said  to  me.  "  A  coiner,  a  very 
good  workman.  The  .Recorder's  report  is  made  to-day,  and  he  is 
sure  to  be  hanged  on  Monday.  Still  you  see,  as  far  as  it  goes,  a 
pair  of  pigeons  are  portable  property,  ajl  the  same."  With  that 
he  looked  back,  and  nodded  at  this  dead  plant,  and  then  cast  his 
eyes  about  him  in  walking  out  of  the  yard,  as_if  he  were  consid- 
ering what  other  pot  would  go  best  in  its'  place. 

As  we  came  out  of  the  prison  through  the  lodge,  I  found  that 
the  great  importance  of  my  guardian  was  appreciated  by  the  turn- 
keys, no  less  than  by  those  whom  they  held  in  charge.  "Well, 
Mr.  Wemmick,"  said  the  turnkey,  who  kept  us  between  the  two 
studded  and  spiked  lodge  ga/tes,  and  carefully  locked  one  before 
he  unlocked  the  other,  "what's  Mr.  Jaggers  going  to  do  with  that 
waterside  murder?  Is  he  going  to  make  it  manslaughter,  or 
what's  he  going  to  mal$&  of  it? 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  him  ?  "  returned  Wemmick. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  turnkey. 

"Now,  thaTs  the  way  with  them  here,  Mr.  Pip,"  remarked  Wem- 
mick, turning  to  me  with  the  postoffice  elongated.  "They  don't 
mind  what  they  ask  of  me,  the  subordinate^  but  you'll  never  catch 
'em  asking  any  questions  of  my  principal." 

"  is  this  young  gentleman  one  of  the  'prentices  or  articled  ones 
of  your  office  I  "  asked  the  turnkey,  with  a  grin  at  Mr.  Wemmick's 
humor. 

"There  he  goes  again,  you  see  ?"  cried  Wemmick,  "  I  told  yon 
so  !  Asks  another  question  of  the  subordinate  before  his  first  is 
dry  !     Well,  supposing  Mr.  lip  is  one  of  them  ?" 

"  Why,  then,"  said  the  turnkey,  grinning  again,  "  lie  knows  what 
Mr.  Jaggers  is." 

"  Yah  !  '  cried  Wemmick,  suddenly  hitting  out  at  the  turnkey  in 
a  facetious  way*  "you're  as  dumb  as  one  of  your  own  keys  when 
you  have  to  do  with  my  principal — you  know  you  are.  Let  us  out, 
you  old  fox,  or  I'll  get  him  to  bring  an  action  of  false  imprison- 
ment against,  j 

The  turnkey  laughed,  and  gave  us  good-day,  and  stood  laugh- 
ing at  us  over  the  spikes  of  the  wicket  when  we  descended  the 
steps  into  the  street, 

"Mind  you,  Mr.  Tip,"  said  Wemmick,  gravely,  in   my  ear,   as 
>ok  my  arm  to  be  more  confidential ;  "  I  don't  know  that  Mr. 
Jaggers  decs  a  better  thing  than  the  way  in  which   he  keeps  him- 
self so  high.     He's  ahvays  so  high.     His  constant  height  is  of  a 
piece  with  his  immense  abilities.     That  Colonel  durst  tio  more  take 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  *i  1 

leave  of  him,  than  that  turnkey  durst  ask   him   his  intention- 
speoting  i  'iien  between  his  height  and  them  he  slips  in 

his  subordinate — don't,  you   see  I — and   so  he  has  'em,  soul  and 
body: ' 

I  was  very  much  impressed,  and  not  for  the  first  rime,  by  mv 
guardian's  subtietv.  To  confess  the  truth.  I  very  heartily  Wished, 
and  not  for  the  first  time,  that  I  had  had  some  other  guardian  of 
minor  abilities. 

Mr.  Wemmick  and  I  parted  at  the  office  in  Little  Britain,  where 
suppliants  for  Mr.  Jiggers's  notice  were  lingering  about  as  usual, 
and  I  returned  to  my  watch  in  the  street  of  the  coach-otlice,  with 
some  three  hours  on  hand.  I  consumed  the  whole  time  in  thinking 
how  stfftage  it  was  that  1  should  he  encompassed  by  all  this  taint 
of  |  risen  am!  crime  ;  that  in  my  childhood  out  on  our  lonely  marsh- 
es on  a  wint-'r  evening  1  should  have  first  encountered  i;  ;  that  it 
should  have  reappeared  on  two  occasions,  starting-  out  like  a.  stain 
that  was  faded  but  not  gone;  that  it  should  in  this  new  way  per- 
vade my  fortune  and  advancement.  I  thought,  of  the  beautiful 
young  Estelia.  proud  and  refined,  coming  toward  me  while  my  mind 
was  thus  enraged,  and  thought  with  absolute  abhorrence  of  the 
contrast  between  the  jail  and  her.  I  wished  that  Wemmick  had 
not  met  me,  or  that  1  had  not  yielded  to  him  and  gone  with  him, 
so  that,  of  all  days  in  the  year,  on  this  day  I  might  iv!  haw  had 
Newgate  in  my  breath  and  on  my  clothes.  I  beat  the  prison-dust 
off  my  feet  as  I  sauntered  to  and  fro.  and  I  shook  it  out  of  mv 
dress,  and  I  exhaled  its  air  from  my  lungs.  So  contaminated  did 
1  feel,  remembering  who  was  coming,  that  the  coach  came  qui  kly 
after  all,  and  I  was  not  yet  free  from  the  soiling  consciousness  of 
Mr.  Wemoiick's  conservatory,  when  I  saw  her  face  at  the  coach 
window  and  her  hand  waving  to  me. 

What  was  the  nameless  shadow  which  again  in  that  one  instant 
bail  passed  '. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

In  her  farad  traveling  dress,  Estelia  seemed  more  delicately 
beautiful  than  she  had  ever  seemed  yet,  even  in  my  eyes.  Her 
manner  was  more  winning  than  she  had  cared  to  let  it  be  to  me  before, 
and   I  thought  1  saw  Miss  Havisham's  influence  in  the  change. 

We  stood  in  the  Inn  Yard  while  she  pointed  out  her  luggage  to 
me,  and  when  it  was  all  collected  I  remembered — having  forgotten 
everything  but  herself  in  the  meauwhile — that  1  kuww  nothing  of 
b«r  destination. 


3i2  GREAT  EXPECT ATIOTS. 

t 

"I  am  going  to  Richmond,"  she  told  me.  "Our  lesson  is,  that 
there  are  two  Richmonds,  one  in  Surrey  and  one  in  Yorkshire, 
and  tha,t  mine  is  Surrey  Richmond.  The  distance  is  ten  miles.  I 
am  to  have  a  carriage,  arjd  you  are  to  take  me.  This  is  my  purse, 
and  you  are  to  pay  my  charges  out  of  it.  Oh,  you  must  tak"  the 
purse!  We  have  no  choice,  you  and  1,  but  to  obey  our  instruc- 
tions.    We  are  not  tree  to  fol.ow  our  own  devices,  you  and  1." 

As  she  looked  at  me  in  giving  me  the  purse,  I  hoped  there  was 
an  inner  meaning  in  her  words.  She  said  them  slightingly,  but 
not  with  displeasure.  ■ 

"  A  carriage  will  have  to  be  sent  for,  Estella.  Will  you  rest 
here  a  little.  P 

"  Yes,  I  am  to'rest  here  a  little,  and  I  am  to  drink  some  tea, 
and  you  are  to  take  care  of  me  the  while." 

She  drew  her  arm  through  mine,  as  if  it  must  be  done,  and  I 
requested  a  waiter  who  had  been  staring  at  the  coach  like  a  man 
who  had  never  seen  such  a  thing  in  his  life,  to  sshow  us  a  private 
sitting-room.  Upon  that  he  pulled  out  a  napkin,  as  if  it  were  a 
magic  clew  without  which  he  couldn't  find  the  way  up  stairs,  and 
led  us  to  the  black  hole  of  t lie  establishment;  titled  up  with  a 
diminishing  mirror  (quite  a  superfluous  article  considering  the 
hole's-proportion),  an  anchovy  sauce-cruet,  and  somebody's  pat- 
tens. On  my  objecting  to  this  retreat,  he  took  us  into  anolher 
room  with  a  dinner-table  for  thirty,  and  in  the  grate  a  scorched 
leaf  of  a  copy-book  under  a  bushel  of  coal-dust.  Having  looked 
at  (his  extinct  Conflagration  and  shaken  his  hc.ad,  he  took  my  or- 
der: which,  proving  to  be  merely  "  Some  tea  for  the  lady,"  sent 
him  out.  of  the  room  in  a  very  low  state  of  mind. 

I  was.  and  I  am,  sensible  that  the  air  of  this  chamber,  in  its 
strong  combination  of  stable  with  soup-stock,  might  have  led  one 
to  infer  that  the  coaching  department  was  not  doing  web,  and  that 
the  enterprising  proprietor  was  boiling  down  the  horses  i'or  the 
refreshment  department.  Yet  the  room  was  all  in  all  to  me,  Es- 
tella being  in  it.  1  thought  that  with  her  I  could  have  been  hap- 
py there  for  life.  (I  was  not  at  all  happy  there  at  the  time,  ob- 
serve, and  1  knew  it  well.) 
."  Where  are  you  going  to,  at  Richmond '/"  I  asked  Estella. 

"I  am  going  to  live,"  said  she,  "at  a  great  expense,  with  a 
lady  there,  who  has  the  power — or  says  she  has — of  taking  me 
about  and  introducing  me,  and  showing  people  to  me  and  showing 
me  to  people." 

"  1  suppose  yen  will  be  glad  of  variety  and  admiration." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

She  answered  so  carelessly  that  I  said,  "You  speak  of  your- 
self as  if  you  were  some  one  else." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  how  I  speak  of  others?  Come,  come," 
■<aid  Estella,  smiling  delightfully,  "  you  must  not  expect  me  to  go 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  213 

to  school   to  you  ;    I  must  talk  in   mv  own  way.  ■  How  do  von 
thrive  w'uh  Mr.  Poekel  V 

"  I  live  quite  pleasantly  there  ;  at  least — "  It  appeared  to  me 
that  I  was  losing  a  ohan 

44  At  least  V  repeated  Ksle'la. 

"  As  pleasantly  as  I  could  any  where,  away  from  you." 

41  You,  silly  boy."  said  Kstella,  quite  composedly.  "  how  can 
you  talk  such  nonsense  ?  Your  friend  Mr.  Matthew,  I  believe,  is 
superior  to  the  rest  of  his  family  '.'" 

"  Very  superior  indeed.     He  is  nobody's  enemy — " 

"Don't  add  'but  bis  own.'"  interposed  Estella,  "  for  I  hate 
that  class  pf  men.  But  he  really  is  disinterested,  and  above  small 
jealousy  and  spite.  I  have  heard  ?" 

44  I  am  sure  1  have  every  reason  to  say  so." 

"  You  have  not  every  reason  to  say  so  of  the  rest  of  bis  people," 
said  Estella,  nodding  at  me  with  an  expression  of  face  that  was 
at  once  grave  and  rallying,  "  for  they  beset  Miss  Havisham  with 
reports  and  insinuations  to  your  disadvantage.  They  watch  you, 
misrepresent  you.  write  letters  about  you  (anonymous  sometimes), 
and  you  are  the  torment  and  the  occupation  of  their  lives.  You 
can  scarcely  realize  to  yourself  the  hatred  those  people  feel  for 
you." 

44  They  do  me  no  barm,  I  hope1?"  said  I. 

Instead  of  answering,  Estella  burst  our  laughing.  This  was 
very  singular  to  me,  and  I  looked  at  her  in  considerable  perplex- 
ity. 'When  she  let  off— and  she  had  not  laughed  languidly  but 
with  real  enjoyment — I  said,  in  my  diffident  way  with  her,  "I 
hope  I  may  suppose  that  you  would  not  be  amused  if  they  did 
me  any  harm." 

44 No,  no,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,"  said  Estelfa.  "You  may 
be  certain  that  I  laugh  because  they  fail.  Oh,  those  people  with 
Miss  Havisham,  and  the  tortures  they  undergo!"  She  laughed 
again,  and  even  now  when  she  had  told  me  why.  her  laughter  was 
veiy  singular  to  me,  for  1  could  not  doubt  its  being  genuine,  and 
yet  it  seemed  too  much  for  the  occasion.  I  i  bought  there  must 
really  be  something  more  here  than  I  knew  ;  she  saw  the  thought 
in  my  mind,  and  answered  it. 

"It  is  not  easy  for  even  you,"  said  Estella,  "  to  know  what 
-faction  it  gives  me  to  see  those  people  thwarted,  or  what  an 
enjoyable  mmm'  of  the  ridiculous  1  have  when  they  are  made  ridi- 
culous. For  you  were  not  brought  up  in  that  strange  house  from 
a  mere  baby.  I  was.  You  had  not  your  little  wits  sharpened  by 
their  intriguing  against  you.  suppressed  and  defenceless,  under 
the  mask  of  sympathy  and  pity  and  what  not.  that  is  soft  and 
soothing. — I  had.  You  did  not  gradually  open  your  round  child- 
ish eyes  wider  and  wider  to  the  discovery  of  that  impostor  of  a 


214  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

woman  who  calculates  her  stores  of  peace  of  mind  when  she  wakes 
up  in  the  night — T  did." 

It  was  no  laughing  matter  with  Estejla  how,  nor  was  she  sum- 
moning these  remembrances  from  any  shallow  place.  I  would 
not  have  been  the  cause  of  that  look  of  hers  for  all  my  expecta- 
tions in  a  heap. 

"  Two  things  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Estella.  •'  First,  notwith- 
standing the  proverb  that  constant  dropping  will  wear  away  a 
stone,  you  may  set  your  mind  at  rest  that  these  people  never  will 
— never  would,  in  a  hundred  years — impair  your  ground  with  Miss 
Havisham/in  any  particular,  great  or  small.  Second,  I  am. be- 
holden to  you  as  the  cause  of  their  being  so  busy  and  so  mean  in 
vain,  and  there  is  my  hand  upon  it." 

And  -she  gave  it  playfully — for  her  darker  mood  had  been  but 
momentary — I  held  it  and  put  it  to  my  lips.  "  You  ridiculous 
boy,"  said  Estella,  "will  you  never  take  warning?  Or  do  you 
kiss  my  hand  in  the  spirit  in  which  I  once  let  you  kiss  my 
cheek  ]" 

"  What  was  it?"  said  I. 

\l  I  must  think  a  moment.  A  spirit  of  contempt  for  the  fawn- 
ners  and  plotters." 

"  If  I  say  yes,  may  I  kiss  the  cheek  again  V' 

"You  should  have  asked  me  before  you  touched  the  hand.  But, 
yes,  if  you  like." 

I  leaned  down,  and  her  calm  face  was  like  a  statues  "  I\ow," 
said  Estella,  gliding  away  the  instant  I  touched  her  cheek,  "  you 
are  To  take  care  that  I  have  some  tea,  and  you  are  to  lake  me  to 
Richmond." 

Her  reverting  to  this  tone  as  if  our  association  were  forced  upon 
us  and  we  were  mere  puppets,  gave  me  pain  ;  but  every  thing  in 
our  intercourse  did  give  me  pain.  Whatever  her  tone  with  me 
happened  to  be,  I  could  put  no  trust  in  it,  and  build  no  hope  on 
it;  and  yet  I  went  on  against  trust  and  against  hope.  Why  re- 
peat it  a  thousand  times  1     So  it  always  was. 

I  rang  for  the  tea,  and  the  waiter,  reappearing  with  his  magic 
clew,  brought  in  by  degrees  some  fifty  adjuncts  to  that  refresh- 
ment, but  of  tea  not  a  glimpse.  A  tea-board,  cups  and  saucers, 
plates,  knives  and  forks  (including  carvers),  spoons  (various),  salt- 
cellars, a  meek  little  muffin  confined  with  the  utmost  precaution 
under  a  large  strong  tin  cover,  Moses  in  the  bulrushes  typified  by 
soft  bit  of  butter  in  a  quantity  of  parsley,  a  pale  loaf  with  a  pov- 
dered  bead,  two  proof  impressions  of  the  bars  of  the  kitchen  fire- 
place on  triangular  bits  of  bread,  and  ultimately  a  fat  family  urn, 
which  the  waiter  staggered  in  with,  expressing  in  his  countenance 
burden  and.  suffering.  After  a  prolonged  absence  at  this  stage  of 
the  entertainment,  he  at  length  came  back  with  a  casket  of  preci- 
ous appearance  containing  twigs.     These   I  steeped  in  hot  water. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  215 

and  so  from  the  whole  of  these  appliances  extracted  one  cup  of  I 
don't  know  what,  for  Estella. 

The  bill  pad,  and  the  waiter  renumbered,  and  tin*  hostler  not. 
forgotten,  and  the  chambermaid  taken  into  consideration — in  a 
word,  the  whole  house  bribed  into  a  state  of  contempt  and  ani- 
mosity, and  Estella's  purse  much  lightened — we  got  into  ourpost- 
i  and  drove  away.  Turning  into  Cheapside  and  rattling  up 
Newgate  Street,  we  were  soon  under  the  walls  of  which  i  was  so 
ashamed. 

"  What  place  is  that?"  Estella  asked  me. 

I  made  a  foolish  pretence  of  not  at  first. recognizing  it,  and  then 
told  her.  As  she  looked  at  it,  and  drew  in  her  head  again,  mur- 
muring "  Wretches  !  "  1  would  not  have  confessed  to  my  visit,  for 
any  consideration. 

"  Mr.  Jaggers,"  said  I.  by  way  of  p  itting  it  neatly  on  some- 
body else,  -'has  the  reputation  of  being  more  in  the  secrets  of  that 
dismal  place  than  any  man  in  London." 

••  lie  is  more  in  the  secrets  of  every  place  I  think,"  said  Es- 
teila,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  have  been  acoustomed  to  see  him  often.  I  suppose.1' 

"I  have  been  accustomed  to  see  him  at.  uncertain  intervals 
ever  since  I  can  remember.  But  I  know  him  no  better  now  than 
I  did  before  1  could  speak  plainly.  What  is  your  own  experience 
of  him  ?     l'o  you  advance  with  him  ?" 

•'Once  habituated  to  his  distrustful  manner,"  said  I,  "  I  have 
done  very  well." 

'•  Are  you  intimate?" 

"  I  have  dined  with  him  at  his  private  house." 

"  I   fancy,"  said  Estell  i,  shrinking.  "  that,  must  be  a  curious 

place." 

"  It  is  a  curious  place  " 

T  should  have  been  chary  of  discussing  my  guardian  too  freely 
even  with  her;  but  1  should  have  gone  ou  with  the  subject  so  far 
as  to  describe  the  dinner  in  Gerrard  Street,  if  we  had  not  then 
come  into  a  sudden  glare  of  gas  It  seemed,  while  it  lasted,  to  be 
ah  alight  and  alive  with  that  inexplicable  feeling  I  had  had  he- 
fore  ;  and  when  we  were  out  of  it,  I  was  as  much  dazed  for  a  few 
iieuts  as  if  I  had  been  in  lightning. 
we  fell  into  other  talk,  and  it  was  principally  about  the  way 
by  which  we  were  traveling,  and  about  what  parts  of  London  lay 
on  tnis  side  of  it,  and  what  on  that.  The  great,  city  WAS  almost 
new  to  her,  she  told  me,  for  she  had  never  left  Miss  Havisham's 
neighborhood  until  she  had  gone  to  France,  and  she  had  merely 
passed  tbrougb  London  then  in  going  and  returning.  I  asked  her 
if  my  guardian  had  any  charge  of  her  while  she  remained  here? 
To  that  she  emphatically  said,   "God  forbid!"  and  no  more. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  avoid  seeing  that  she  cared  to  at- 


216  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tract  me;  that  she  made  herself  winning  ;  and  would  have  won 
me  even  if  the  task  had  needed  pains.  Yet  this  made  me  none  the 
happier,  for,  even  if  she  had  not,  taken  that  tone  of  onr  being  dis- 
posed of  by  others,  I  shou'd  have  felt  that  she  held  my  heart  in 
her  band  because  she  willfully  chose  to  doit,  and  not  because  it 
would  have  wrung  any  tenderness  in  her  to  crush  it  and  throw  it 
away. 

"When  we  passed  through  Hammersmith  I  showed  her  where 
Mr.  Mafthew  Pocket  lived,  and  said  it  was  no  great' w^y  from 
Richmond,  and  that  I  hoped  I  should  see  her  sometimes. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are  to  see  me  ;  you  are  to  come  when  yon  think 
proper ;  you  are  to  be  mentioned  to  the  family  ;  indeed  you  are 
already  mentioned." 

I  inquired  was  it  a  large  household  she  was  going  to  be  a  mem- 
ber ol  I. 

"No;  there  are  only  two — mother  and  daughter.  The  mother 
is  a  lady,  of  some  station,  I  believe,  though  not  averse  to  increas- 
ing ber  income." 

"  I  wonder  Miss  Havisham  could  part  with  you  again  so  soon." 

"  It  is  a  part,  of  Miss  Havisham 's  plans  for  me,  Pip,"  said  Es- 
tella,  with  a  sigh,  as  if  she  were  tired  ;  "  I  am  to  write  to  her  con- 
stantly and  see  her  regularly,  and  report  how  I  go  on — 1  and  the 
jewels — for  they  are  nearly  all  mine  now." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  me  by  my  name.  Of 
course  she  did  so  purposely,  and  knew  that  I  should  treasure  it  up. 

We  came  to  Pichmond  all  too  soon,  and  our  destination  there 
was  a  house  by  the  Green — a  staid  old  house,  where  hoops  and 
powder  and  patches,  embroidered  coats,  rolled  stockings,  ruffles, 
and  swords  had  had  their  court  days  many  a  time.  Soma  ancient 
trees  before  the  house  were  still  cut  into  fashions  as  fo  mal  and  mi- 
natural  as  the  hoops  and  wigs  and  stiff  skirts  they  had  cast  their 
shadows  on;  but  their  own  allotted  places  in  the  great  procession 
of  the  d  ad  were  not  far  off,  and  they  would  soon  drop  into  them 
and  go  the  silent  way  of  the  rest. 

A  bell  with  an  old  voice — which  I  dare  say  in  its  time  had  often 
said  to  the  house,  Here  is  the  green  farthingale,  Here  is  the  diam- 
ond-hilted  sword,  Here  are  the  shoes  with  red  heels  and  the  blue 
solitaire — sounded  gravely  in  the  moonlight,  and  two  *  herry-eolor- 
ed  maids  came  fluttering  out  to  receive  Estella.  1  he  door-way 
soon  absorbed  her  boxes,  and  she  give  me  her  hand  and  a  smile, 
and  said  good-night,  and  was  absorbed  likewise.  And  still  I  stood 
looking  at  the  house,  thinking  how  happy  I  should  be  if  1  lived 
there  with  her,  and  knowing  that  I  never  was  happy  with  her,  but 
always  miserable. 

I  got  into  the  carriage  to  be  taken  back  to  Hammersmith,  and  I 
got  in  with  a  bad  heartache,  and  1  got  out  with  a  worse  heartache. 
At  our  own  door  I  found  little  Jane  Pocket  coming  home  from  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  217 

party  escorted  by  her  little  lover;  and  I  envied  her  little  lover,  in 
spite  of  Ins  being  subject  to  Flopsqn. 

Mr.  Pocket  was  out  lecturing  ;  for  he  was  a  most  delightful  lec- 
turer on  domestic  economy,  and  Ins  treatises  on  the  management 
of  children  and  servants  were  ponsidered  the  very  best  text-hooks 
on  those  themes.  But  Mr-',  Pocket  was  at  home,  and  was  in  a  lit- 
tle difficulty,  on  account  OI  the  baby's  hdvfng  been  accommodated 
with  a  needle-case  to  keep  him  quiet  during  the  unaccountable  ab- 
sence (with  a  relative  in  tlte  Foot  (iuards)  of  Millers,  and  of  more 
needles  being  missing  than' il  could  be  regarded  as, quite whole- 
some lor  a  patient  of  such  tender  years  either  to  apply  externally 
or  to  take  as  a  tonic. 

As  Mr.  Pocket  was  also  justly  celebrated  for  giving  most  excel- 
lent!, practicaj  advice,  and  for  having  a  clear  and  sound  perception 
of  things  and  a  highly  judicious  mind.  1  had  some  notion  in  my 
heartache  of  begging  hira  to  accept  my  confidence.  But  happen- 
ing to  look  up  at  Mrs.  Pocket  as  she  sat  reading  her  book  of  dig- 
nities, after  prescribing  Bed  as  a  .sovereign  remedy  for  baby,  i 
thought,  Well— No,  1  wouldn't, 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

8  1  had  grown  accustomed  to  my  expectations  1  had  insensibly 

begun  to  notice  their  effect  upon  myself  and  those  around  me. 
Their  influence  on  my  own  character  1  disguised  from  my  recogni- 
tion as  much  as  possible-;  but  I  know  very  well  that  it  was  not  all 
good j  1  lived  in  a  stale  of  chronic  uneasiness  respecting  my  be- 
havior to  doe.  My  conscience  was  not  by  any  means  comfortable 
about  Biddy.  When  I  woke  up  in  the  night — like  Camilla — I 
used  to  think,  with  a  weariness  on  my  spirits,  that  J  should  have 
been  happier  and  better  if  1  had  never  seen  Miss  Havisham's  face, 
and  had  risen  to  manhood  content  to  he  partners  with  Joe  in  the 
honest  old  forge.  Many  a  time  oi  an  evening,  when  1  sat  alone, 
locking  at  the  tire,  1  thought,  after  all  there  was  no  lire  like  the 
forge  lire  and  the  kitchen  lire  at  home. 

Yet  Eslclla  was  so  inseparable  from  all  my  restlessness  and  dis- 
of  mind,  that  1  really  fell  Into  couluMon  as  to  the  limits  of 
m\  own  part  in  its  production.  That  is  to  Say,  supposing  1  had 
bad  uo  expectations,  ami  yet  had  Estella  to  think  of,  1  could  not 
make  out  to  my  satisfaction  that  1  should  have  done  much  better. 
.Now,  poncerning  the  influence  of  my  position  on  others,  I  was  in  no 
such   difficulty,  and   so    I   perceived — though   dimly  enough,  per- 


2  13  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

haps — that  it  was  not  beneficial  to  any  bod}',  and,  above  all,  that 
ii  whs  nut  beneficial  to  Herbert.  My  lavish  habits  led  his  easy 
nature  info-expenses  that  he  could  not  afford,  corrupted  the  simpli- 
city of  his  life,  and  disturbed  his  peace  with  anxieties  and  regrets. 
I  was  not  at,  ail  remorseful  for  having  unwittingly  set  those  other 
branches  of  the  Pocket  family  to  the  poor  arts  they  practical  : 
because  such  littlenesses  were  their  natural  bent,  and  would  have 
been  evoked  by  any  body  else,  if  1  had  left  them  slumbering.  But 
Herbert's  was  a  very  different  case,  and  it  often  caused  me  a  twinge 
to  think  that  I  had  done  him  evil  service  in  crowding  sparely-fur- 
nished chambers  with  •incongruous  upholstery  work,  and  placing 
the  canary-breasted  Avenger  at  his  disposal. 

So  now,  as  an  infallible  way  of  making  little  ease  great  ease,  I 
began  to  contract  a  quantity  of  debt.  1  could  hardly  begin  but 
Herbert  must  begin  too,  so* he  soon  followed.  At  Startop's  sug- 
gestion, we  put  ourselws  down  for  election  into  a  club  called  The 
Finches  of  the  Grove  :  the  object  of  which  institution  I  had  never 
divined,  if  it  were  not  that  the  members  should  dine  expensively 
once  a  fortnight,  to  quarrel  among  themselves  as  much  as  possible 
after  dinner,  and  to  cause  six  waiters  to  get  drunk  on  the  stairs.  I 
know  that  these  gratifying  social  enJs  were  so  invariably  accom- 
plished that  Herbert  and  1  understood  nothing  else  to  be  referred 
to  in  the  first  standing  toast  of  the  society,  which  ran:  "  Gentle- 
men, may  the  present  promotion  of  good  feeling  ever  reign  pre- 
dominant among  the  Finches  of  the  Grove." 

The  Finches  spent  their  money  foolishly  (the  hotel  we  dined  at 
was  in  Covent  Garden),  and  the  first  Finch  I  saw,  when  I  had  the 
honor  of  joining  the  Grove,  was. Beiitley  Drunnnle :  at  that  time 
floundering  about  town  in  a  cab  of  his  own,  and  doing  a  great  deal 
of  daiumage  to  the 'posts  at  the  street  comers.  Occasionally  he 
shot  himself  out  of  his  equipage  head-foremost,  over  the  apron  ;  and 

-aw  him,  on  one  occasion,  deliver  himself  at  the  door  of  the 
Grove  in  this  unintentional  way — like  coals.  But  here  I  anticipate 
a  little,  for  1  was  not  a  Finch,  and  could  not  be,  according  to  the 
sa«rred  laws  of  the  society,  until  I  came  of  age. 

In  my  confidence  in  my  own  resources  1  would  willingly  have 
taken  Herbert's  expenses  on  myself;  out  Herbert  was  proud,  and 
1  could  make  no  such  proposal  to  him.  So  he  got  into  difficulties 
in  every  direction,  and  ec  ntinued  to  look  about  him.  When  we 
gradually  fell  into  keeping  late  hours  and  late  company,  1  noticed 
that  he  looked  about  him  with  a  despondent  eye  at  breakfast-: 
that  he  began  to  look  about  him  more  hopelessly  about  mid-day  ; 
that  he  drooped  when  he  came  in  to  dinner  ;  that  he  seemed  to  de- 
scry Capital  in  the  distance  ra'hcr  clearly,  after  dinner ;  that  he 
all  but  realized  Capital  and  banked  it  toward  midnight:  and  that 
at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  mornfag  he   became  so  deeply  despon- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  21 6 

dent  again  as  to  talk  of  buying  a  rifle  and  going  to  America,  with 
a  general  purpos  r-  of  cornpelling  buffaloes'  to  make  his  fortune. 

1  was  usually  at  Hammersmith  aboul  half  the  week,  and  when 
I  was  at  Hammersmith  I  haunted  Richmond;  whereof  separately 
by-and-bv.  Herbert  would  often  come  to  Hammersmith  when  1 
was  there,  and  1  think  at  those  seasons  his  father  would  occasion- 
ally have  some  passing  perception  that  the  opening  he  was  looking 
for  had  not  appeared  yet.  Hut  in  the  general  tumbling  up  of 
family,  his  tumbling  out  in  life  somewhere,  was  a  thing  to  trail 
itself  somehow.  In  the  meantime  Air.  I'oeket  grew  graver,  and 
tried  oftener  to  lift  himself  out  of  his  perplexities  by  tin1  hair. — 
While  Mrs.  I'oeket  tripped  up  the  family  with  her  footstool,  read 
her  hook  of  dignities,  lost  her  pocket-handkerchief,  told  us  about 
her  grandpapa,  and  taught  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot,  by  shoot- 
ing it  into  bed  whenever  it  attracted   her  notice. 

As  I  am  now  generalizing  a  period  of  my  life  with  the  object  of 
clearing  the  way  before  me.  I  can  scarcely  do  so  belter  than  by  at 
once  completing  the  description  of  our  usual  maimers  and  customs 
at  Barnard's  Inn 

We  spent  as  much  money  as  we  could,  and  got.  as  little  for  it 
as  people  could  make  up  their  minds  to  give  us.  We  were  always 
more  or  less  miserable,  and  most  ■  iquaintance  were  in  the 

same  condition,  '1  "here  was  a  gay  Action  among  us  that  we  were 
constantly  enjoying  ourselves,  and  a  skeleton  truth  that  we  never 
did.  To  the  best  of  my  belief,  our  case  was  in  the  last  aapeel  a 
rather  common  one. 

eery  morning,  with  an  air  ever  new,  Herbert  went  into 
to  look  about  him.  I  often  paid  him  a  visit  in  the  dark  back- 
room in  which  he  consorted  with  an  ink-jar,  a  at-peg,  a  coal-box, 
a  string-box,  an  almanac,  a  desk  and  stool,  and  a  ruler;  and  1  do 
not  remember  that  I  ever  saw  him  doing  anything  else  but  looking 
about  him.  If  we  all  did  what  we  undertake  to  do  as  faith  1 
as  Herbert  did,  we  might  live  in  a  Republic  «\'  the  He 

had  nothing  else  to  do,  poor  fellow,  except  at  a  certain  hour  of  ev- 
fieriionn  in  "gq  to  Lloyd's"' — in  observance  of  a  ceremony  of 
seeing  his  principal,  I  think.     He  never  did  anything  else  in 
nection  with  Lloyd's  thai   1  could  find  out.  . 

When  he  felt   his  case   unusually  serii  itively 
must  find  an  opening,  he  would  go  on 'Change  at 
and  walk   in   and  i                   ind  of  gloomy  cot  n  try -del] 
among   the  assembled                       "For,              Herbert  tu  me, 
coming  home  to  dinner  on  one  oi                    i                    "  I 
the   truth  to  be.   I!                   ;  an  opei                                  i  one.  bur- 
one    lilUSt   g**fcJ0  il so     I     .,(,«■   been.'* 

If  we  I:        '  .1    think  ' 

have  hated  on^Tniother  regularly  every  n  i 

nid  could 


220  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

not  endure  the  sight  of  the  Avenger's  livery ;  which  had  a  more 
expensive  and  less  a  remunerative  appearance  then  than  at  any  oth- 
er lime  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours.  As  we  got.  more  and  more 
into  dehti  breakfast  became  a  hoi  lower  and  hollower  form,  and,*  be- 
ing on  one  occasion  at  breakfast-time  threatened  (by  letter)  with 
legal  proceeding,  "not  unwholly  unconnected,"  as  my  local  paper 
might  put  it,  "  with  jewelry,"  I  went  so  far  as  to  seize  the  Aveng- 
er by  his  1)1  ne  colar  and  shake  him  off  his  feet. — so  that  he  was 
actually  in  the  air,  like  a  booted  Cupid — for  presuming  to  suppose 
that  we  wanted  a  French  roll. 

At  certain  times — meaning  at  uncertain  times,  for  they  depended 
on  our  humor — I  would  say  to  Herbert,  as  if  it  were  a  remarka- 
ble discovery  : 

"  My  dear  Herbert,  we  are  getting  on  badly." 

"My  dear  Handel, "  Herbert  would  say  to  me,  in  all  sincerity, 
"  if  you  will  believe  me,  those  very  words  were  on  my  lips,  by  a 
strange  coincidence." 

"  Then  Herbert,"  I  would  respond,  "let  us  look  into  our  affairs." 

We  always  derived  profound  satisfaction  from  making  an  ap- 
pointment for  this  purpose.  I  always  thought  myself,  this  was 
business,  this  was  the  way  to  confront  the  thing,  this  was  the  way 
to  take  the  foe  by  the  throat.  And  I  know  Herbert  thought  so 
too. 

We  generally  ordered  something  rather  special  for  dinner,  with  a 
bottle  of  something  similarly  out  of  the  common  way,  in  order  that 
our  minds  might  lie  fortified  for  the  occasion,  and  we  might  come 
well  up  to  the  mark.  Dinner  over,  we  produced  a  bundle  of  pens, 
a  copious  supply  of  ink,  and  a  goodly  show  of  writing  and  blot- 
ling  paper.  For  there  was  something  very  comfortable  in  having 
plenty  of  stationery. 

1  would  then  take  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  write  across  the  top  of 
it,  in  a  neat  hand,  the  heading  "  Memorandum  of  Pip's  debts;" 
with  Barnard'*  Inn  and  the  date  very  carefully  added.  Herbert 
would  also  take  a  'sheet  of  paper,  and  write  across  it  with  similar 
formalities,  "  Memorandum  of  Herbert's  debts." 

Each  of  us  would  then  refer  to  a  confused  heap  of  papers  at 
his  side,  which  had  been  thrown  into  drawers,  worn  into  holes  in 
pockets,  half  burned  in  Lighting  candles,  stuck  for  weeks  into  the 
looking-glass,  and  otherwise  damaged.  The  sound  of  our  pens  go- 
ing refreshed  us  exceeding,  insomuch  that.  I  sometimes  found  it 
difficult,  to  distinguish  between  this  eddying  business  proceeding 
and  actually  paying**he  money.  In  point  of  meritorious  charac- 
ter the  two  things  seemed  about  equal. 

When  we  had  written  a  little  while,  I  would  ask  Herbert  how 
he  got  on  ]  Herbert  probably  would  have  been  scratching  his 
head  in  a  most  rueful  manner  at  the  sight  of  his  accumulating  fig- 
ures. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  221 

"They  are  mounting  up,  Handel,"  Herbert  would  say ;  "upon 
my  life,  Ihey  are  mounting  up." 

"l>eiirm,  Herbert,"  1  would  retort,  plying  my  own  pen  with 
great  assiduity.;  "  Look  the  thing  in  the  face.  Look  into  your  af- 
fairs.   Stare  them  out  of  countenance/' 

"So  1  would,  Handel,  only  tliey  are  staring  me  out  of  cpunte 
nance." 

However,  my  determined  manner  wpnld  liaveiis  effect,  and  Her 
ltert  would  fall  to  work  again.  After  a  time,  lie  would  give  up 
once  more,  on  the  plea  that  he  had  not  got  Cobb's  bill,  or  Lobb's, 
or  Nobb'i  ,  as  the  ease  might  he. 

••Then,  Herbert,  estimate  it;  estimate  it  in  round  numbers,  ami 
put  it  down'." 

"What  a  fellow  of  resource  you  are  !  "  my  friend  would  reply, 
with  admiration.  "  Really  your  business  powers  are  very  remark- 
able." 

1  thought  so  too.  I  established  with  myself  on  these  occasions 
the  reputation  of  a  first  rate  man  of  business — prompt,  decisive. 
energetic,  clear,  cool-headed.  When  I  had  got  all  my  responsi- 
bilities down'upon  my  list.  I  compared  each  with  the  bill,  ami  ticked 
it  off,  My  self-approval  when  I  ticked  an  entry  was  almost  a  lux* 
urious  sensation.  When  1  had  no  more  ticks  to  make,  1  folded 
all  my  bills  up  uniformly,  docketed  each  on  the  back,  and  tied  the 
whole  into  a  symmetrical  bundle.  Then  1  di  I  th  same  for  Her- 
bert (who  modestly  said  be  had  int  my  administrative  genius), 
and  felt  that  I   had  brought  his  affairs  into  a  focus  for  him. 

My  business  habits  had  one  other  brigbl  feature,  which  1  called 
'•  leaving  a  margin."  For  example  ;  supposing  Herberts  dolus  to 
be  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  pounds  four-aud-tWo  pence,  1  would 
say,  "leave  a  margin,  and  put  them  down  at  two  hundred."  Or 
supposing  my  own  to  be  four  times  as  much,  1  would  leave  a  mar- 
gin, and  put  them  down  at  seven  hundred.  1  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  the  wisdom  and  prudence  of  this1  same  margin;  but  1 
am  bound  to  acknowledge  that,  on  looking  back,  I  deem  it  to  have 
been  an  expensive  device.  For  we  always  ran  into  new  debt  im- 
mediately, to  the  full  extent  of  the  margin,  and  sometimes,  in  the 
sense  of  freedom  and  solvency  it  imparted,  got  pretty  far  on  into 
another  margin. 

But  lliere'was  a  calm,  a  rest,  a  virtuous  hush,  consequent  on 
these  examinations  of  our  affairs,  that  gave  me,  for  the  time,  an 
admirable  (minimi  of  myself.  Soothed  by  try  exertions,  my  meth- 
od, and  Herbert's  compliments,  I  would  sit  with  his  symmetrical 
lie  and  my  own  on  the  table  before  me  among  the  stationery, 
and  feel  like  a  bank  'of  some  sort,  rather  than  a  private  individual. 

We  shut  our  outer  door  on  these  solemn  occasions,  in  order  that 
we  might  not  be  interrupted.  1  had  fallen"  into  m\  serene  state 
one  «veniu£,  when  we  heard  a  letter  dropped  through  the  slit"  in 


222  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  said  door,  and  fall  on  the  ground.  "  It's  for  you,  Handel," 
said  Herbert,  going  out  and  coming  back  with  it,  "  and  I  hope 
there  is  nothing'  the  matter."  This  was  in  allusion  to  its  heavy 
black  seal  and  border. 

The.  letter  was  signed  Trabb  &  Co.,  and  its  contents  were  sim- 
ply, that  1  was  an  honored  Sir,  and  that  they  begged  to  inform 
me  that  Mrs.  J.  Gargery  had  departed  this  life  on  Monday  last,  at 
twenty  minutes  past  six  in  the  evening,  and  that  my  attendance 
was  requested  at  the  interment  on  Monday  next  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon* 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  a  grave  had  opened  in  my  road  of 
life,  and  the  depth  of  the  gap  it  made  in  the  smooth  ground  was 
wonderful.  The  figure  of  my  sister  in  her  chair  by  the  kitchen 
fire  haunted  me  night  and  day.  That  the  place  could  possibly  be 
without  her  was  something  my  mind  seemed  unabl '  to  compass; 
ami  whereas  she  had  seldom  or  never  been  in  my  thoughts  of  late, 
I  had  now  the  strangest  iib-as  that  she  was  coining  toward  me  in 
fli'  street,  or  that  she  would  presently  knock  at  the  door.  In  my 
■;.  too;  with  which  she  had  never  been  at  all  associated,  there. 
was  at  once  Ihe  blankness  of  death  and  a  perpetual  suggestion  of 
the  sound  of  her  voice  or  the  turn  of  her  face  or  figure,  as  if  sjie 
were  still  alive  and  had  been  often  there. 

Whatever  my  fortunes  might  have  been,  1  could  scarcely  have 
recalled  my  sister  with  miicti  tenderness.  But  I  suppose  there  is 
a  shock  of  regret  which  may  exist  without  much  tenderness.  Un- 
der its  influence  (and  perhaps  to  make  up  for  the  want  of  the  softer 
feeling)  I  was  seized  with  a  violent  indignation  againffc  the  assail- 
ant from  whom  she  had  suffered  so  much ;  and  1  felt  that,  on  suf- 
ficient proof,  I  could  have  revengefully  pursued  Orlick,  or  any  one 
else,  1o  the  last  extremity. 

Having  writte.n  to  Joe,  to  offer  consolation,  and  to  assure  him 
that  I  should  come  to  the  funeral,  1  passed  the  intermediate  days 
in  the  curious  state  of  mind  1  have  glanced  at.  I  went  down 
early  in  the  morning,  and  alighted  at  the  Blue  Boar  in  good  time 
to  walk  ove*  to  the  forge. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  223 

It  was  fine  summer  weather  again,  and,  as  T  walked  along,  the 
time  when  1  was  a  little  helpless  creature,  and  my  sister  did  not 
spare  me,  vividly  returned.  Hut  they  returned -with  a  gentle  tone 
upon  them  that  softened  even  the  edge  of  Tickler.  For  now  the 
very  breath  of  the  beans  and  clover  whispered  to  my  heart  that 
the  day  must  come  when  it  would  lie  well  for  my  memory  thet 
others  walking  in  the  sunshine  should  be  softened  as  they  thought 
of  me. 

At  last  T  came  within  sight  of  the  house,  and  then  I  immedi- 
ately saw  tin at  Tf abb  &  Co.  had  put  in  a  funeral  execution  and 
taken  possession.  Two  dismally  absurd  persons,  eaeh  ostenta- 
tiously exhibiting  a  crutch  done  up  in  a  hlaek  bandage — as  if  that 
instrument  could  possifily  communicate  any  comfort  to  any  bodj  — 
were  posted  at  the  front  door;  and  in  one  of  them  1  recognized  a 
post-hoy  discharged  from  the  Hoar  for  turning  a  young  couple  into 
a  saw-pit  on  their  bridal  morning,  in  consequence  of  intoxication 
rendering  it  necessary  for  him  to  ride  his  horse  clasped  around  the 
neck  wiih  both  arms.  All  the  children  of  the  village,  and  most  of 
the  women,  were  admiring  these  sable  warders  and  the  closed  win- 
dows of  the  house  and  forge;  and  as  1  came  up,  one  o(  the  two 
warders  (ihe  post-boy)  knocked  at  the  door — implying  that  I  was 
far  too  much  exhausted  by  grief  to  have  strength  remaining  to 
knock  lor  myself. 

Another  sable  warder  (a  carpenter  who  had  once  eaten  two  geese 
for  a  wager)  opened  the  door,  and  showed  me  into  the  best  parlor. 
Here  Mr.  Trabh  had  taken  unto  himself  the  best  table,  and  had 
got  all  the  leaves  up,  and  was  holding  a  kind  of  black  Bazar,  with 
the  aid  of  a  quantity  of  black  pins.  At  the  moment  of  my  arri- 
val he  had  just  finished  putting  somebody's  hat  into  black  long- 
evities, like  an  African  baby  ;  so  lie  held  out  his  hand  for  mine. 
Hut  1.  misled  by  the  action,  and  confused  by  the  occasion,  shook 
iiaiids  with  him  with  every  testimony  of  warm  affection. 

Poor  dear  .foe,  in  a  little  black  cloak  tied  in  a  large  how  under 
his  chin,  was  seated  apart  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room  ;  where,  as 
chief  mourner,  he  had  evidently  been  deposited  by  Trahb.  When 
\  lent  down  and  said  to  him,  "  Dear  Joe,  how  are  you  I  "  he  said, 
"  Pip.  old  chap,  you  knowed  her  when  she  were  a  fine  figure  of  a — " 
clasped  my  hand,  and  said  no  more. 

Biddy,  looking  very  neat  and  modest    in    her   black   dress,  went 

quietly  here  and  there,  and  was  very  helpful.     When  I  had  spoken 

to  Biddy,  as  1  tho'ughl  it  not   a    lime  for  talking   I    went    and  sal 

n  near   Joe,  and    there  began    to  wonder  in  what    pari    of  the 

se  it — she — my  sister — was.     The  air  of  the  parlor  being  faint 

i  the  smell  of  sweet  cake,  I  looked  about  for  the  table  of  re- 

ments;  i!  was  scarcely  visible  until  one  had  goi  accustomed 
;o  the  gloom,  but  there  was  a  cut-up  plum-cake  upon  it,  and  theic 
were  cut-up  oranges,  and  &andwicli«s,  and  biscuits,  and  two  U#- 


234  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

canters  that  I  knew  very  well  as  ornaments,,  but.  had  never  seen 
used  in  all  my  life,  one  full  of  port  and  one  of  sherry.  Standing 
at  this  table,  i  became  conscious  of  the  servile  PuniBleohuok,  in  a 
black  cloak  and  several  yards  of  hat-band,  who  was  alternately  stuf- 
fing himself,  and  making  obsequious  movements  to  catch  my  atten- 
tion. The  moment  he  succeeded  he  came  over  to  me  (breathing 
sherry  and  crumbs),  and  said,  in  a  subdued  voice,  "  May  I,  dear 
Sir  1  "  and  did.  1  then  descried  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubble — the  last- 
named  in  a  decent  speechless  paroxysm  in  a  corner.  We  were  all 
g  to  "follow,"  and  were  all  in  course  of  being  tied  up  sepa- 
rately (by  Trabb)  into  ridiculous  bundles. 

"  Which  I  meanteitsay,  Pip,"  Joe  whispered  me,  as  we  were  be- 
ing what  Mr.  Trabb  called  "  formed  "  in  the  parlor,  two  and  two — 
and  it  was  dreadfully  like  a  preparation  for  some  grim  kind  of 
dance — "which  I  meantersay,  Sir,  as  I  would  in  preference  have 
carried  her  to  the  church  myself,  along  with  three  or  four  friendly 
ones  wot  come  to  it  with  willing  harts  and  arms  ;  but  it  were  con- 
sidered wot  the  neighbors  would  look  down  on  such,  and  would  be 
of  opinions  as  it  were  wanting  in  respect." 

"  rocket-handkerchiefs  out,  all!"  cried  Mr.  Trabb  at  this  point, 
in  a  depressed  business-like  voice.  "Pocket-handkerchiefs  out! 
We  are  ready  !  " 

So  we  all  put  our  pocket-handkerchiefs  to  our  faces,  as  if  our 
noses  were  bleeding,  and  hied  out  two  and  two  ;  Joe  and  I  ;  Bid- 
dy and  Pumblechook  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubble.  The  remains  of  my 
poor  sister  had  been  brought  round  by  the  kitchen  door;  and,  it  be- 
ing a  point  of  Undertaking  ceremony  that  1  he  six  bearers  must  be 
stifled  and  blinded  under  a  horrible,  black  velvet  housing  with  a 
white  border,  tlie  whole  looked  like  a  blind  monster  with  twelve 
?i  legs,  shuffling  and  blundering  along,  under  the  guidance  of 
.two  keepers — the  post-boy  and  bis  comrade. 

The  neighborhood,  however,  highly  approved  of  these  arrange- 
ments, and  we  were  much  admired  as  we  went  through  the  vil- 
lage; the  more  youthful  and  vigorous  part  of  the  community  mak- 
ing dashes  now  and  then  to  cut  us  off,  and  lying  in  wail 
cept  us  at  points  of  vantage.  At  such  times  the  more  exuberant 
among  them  called  out  in  an  excited  maimer,  on  our  emergence 
round  some  corner  of  expectancy,  "  Here  they  come  !  Here  they 
are  !"  and  we  were  all  but  cheered.  In  this  progress  I  was  much 
annoyed  by  the  abject  Pumblechook,  who,  being  behind  me,  per- 
sisted all  the  way,  as  a  delicate  attention,  in  arranging  my  stream- 
ing hat-baud  and  smoothing  my  cloak.  My  thoughts  were  further 
distracted  by  the  excessive  pride  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubble,  who 
were  surpassingly  conceited  and  vain-glorious  in  being  members  of 
so  distinguished  a  procession. 

At  last  the  range  of  marshes  lay  clear  before  us,  with  the  sails 
of  the  ships  on  the  river  growing  out  of  it ;   and  we  went  into  tbe 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  <S* 

churbh-yard  c'ose  to  the  graves  of  my  unknown  parents,  Philip 
Pirrip,  late  of  this  parish,  and  Also  Georgiana,  Wid'  of  the  Above. 
And  Hiere  i  iy  sister  was  laid  quietly  in  the  earth  while  the  larks 
sang  high  above  it,  and  the  light  wind  strewed  it  with  beautiful 
shadows  of  clouds  and  trees. 

Of  i!i!'  conduct  of  the  worldly-minded  Pumblcchook  \i 
was  doing  1  desire  fco  say  no  more  than  it  was  all  addressed  to  me  ; 
and  that  even  when  those  noble  parages  were  read  which  remind 
h'uiminity  bow  ft  brought  nothing  into  the  world  and  can  take  no- 
thing out,  and  how  ii  fleetli  like  a  shadow  and  neverConHiineth 
long  in  one  stay,  I  heard  him  cough  a  reservation  of  the  case  of  a 
young  gent 'cman  who  came  unexpectedly  into  large  properly. 
When  we  g'<t  hack,  lie  had  the  hardihood  to  tell  me  that  ho  wish- 
ed my  sisle:-  could  have  known  1  had  done  her  so  mnch  honor,  and 
to  hint  thai  she  would  have  considered  it  purchased  reasonably  at 
the  price  of  her  death:  After  that  he  drank  all  the  rest  of  the 
sherry,  and  VI r.  Hubble  drank  the  port  ;  and  the  two  talked  (which 
I  hn\  ed    to  he  customary  in  such  cases)  as  if  they 

w.-re  o('(jiii!o  another  race  from  the  deceased,  and  were  notoriously 
immortal.  Finally,  he  went  away  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubble — to 
make  an  evening  of  it,  I  felt  sure,  and  to  tell  the  Jolly  Bargemen 
thai  he  was  the,  founder  of  my  fortunes  and  my  earliest  benefactor. 

When  they  were  all  gone,  and  when  Trabb  and  his  men- 
no!  his  boy  :  1  looked  for  him — had  crammed  their  mummery  into 
!i;igs,  and  M  ere  gone  too,  the  house  felt  whole.somer.  Soon  afler- 
Wftrd  Biddy,  Joe,  and  I  had  a  cold  dinner  together;  but  we  dined 
in  (he  best  parlor,  not  in  the  old  kitchen,  and  Joe  was  so  exceed- 
ingly particular  wh;\t  he  did  with  his.  knife  and  fork,  and  the  salt- 
cellar, and  wbal  'not,  that  there  was  great  restraint  upon  us. 
after  dinner,  when  1  made  him  take  his  pipe,  and  when  1  had  loi- 
tered with  him  about  the  forge,  and  when  we  sat  down  together  on 
:'  stfme  outside  it,  we  trot  on  better.  1  noticed 
funeral  Joe  changed  his  clothes  so  far  as  to  make  a 
compromise   be/wei  ,mday  dress  and  working  dress;    in 

natural  and  like  the  Man  he  was. 

lie  was  ->  .TY.mwel!  pleased  by  my  asking  if  I  might  sleep  in  my 
own  little  rofivn,  and  I  was  pleased  too;  for  1  felt  tiiat  I  had  done 
rather  a  gnat  thing  in  making  the  request.  When  the  shadows  of 
evening  were  closing  in,  I  took  an  opportunity  of  getting  into  the 
gaiden  with.  Biddy  for  a  little  talk. 

"  Biddy,"  said  I,  "  I  think  you  might  have  written  to  me  about 
these  sad  matters." 

"Do  you.  Mr.  Pip?'"  said  Biddy.  "  I  should  have  written  if  I 
had  thoughl  that.?' 

"  Don't  suppose  that  I  mean  to  he  unkind,  Biddy,  wheu  1  say  I 
consider  that  you  ought  to  havo  thought  that." 

"  Do  you,  Mr.  Pip>' 
16 


226  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

She  wasso  quiet,  and  had  such  an  orderly,  good,  and  pretty  way 
with  her,  that  I  did  not  like  the  thought  of  making  her  cry  again. 
After  looking  a  little  at  her  downcast  eyes,  as  she  walked  beside 
me,  I  gave  up  that  .point. 

".I  suppose  it  will  be  difficult  fur  you  to  remain  here  now,  Bid- 
dy dear?" 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  do  so,  Mr.  Pip,"  said  Biddy,  in  a  tone  of  regret, 
but  still  of  quiet  conviction.  "  I  have  be  n  speaking  to  Mrs.  Hub- 
ble, and  1  am  going  to  her  to-morrow.  '1  hope  we  shall  lie  able 
to  take  some  care  of  Mr.  Clargery,  together,  until  he  settles  down." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  live,  Biddy  1     If  you  want  any  rhp — " 

"  How  am  I  going  to  live? '  repeated  Biddy,  striking  in,  with  a 
momentary  flush  upon  her  face.  "  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Fiji.  I  am 
going  to  try  to  get  the  place  of  mistress  in  the  new  school  flearlj 
iinished  here.  I  can  be  well  recommended  by  all  (lie  neighbors, 
and  I  hope  I  can  be  industrious  and  patient,  and  teach  myself 
while  !•  teach  others.  You  know,  Mr.  Pip,"  pursued  Biddy,  with 
a  smile,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  my  face,  "  the  new  Schools  arc 
not  like  the  old,  but  I  learned  a  good  deal  from  you  alter  that  time, 
and  have  had  time  since  Then  to  improve-" 

"  I  think  you  would  always  improve,  Biddy,  under  any  circum- 
stances." 

"  Ah  !  Except  in  mv  bad  side  of  human  nature,"  murmured 
Biddy. 

It  was  not  so  much  a  reproach  as  an  irresistible  thinking  aloud. 
Well!  I  thought  1  would  give  up  tnat  point  too.  So  1  walked  a 
little  further  with  Biddy,  looking  silently  at  her  downcast  eyes. 

"  J  have  not  heard  the  particulars  of  my  sister's  death,  Biddy.' 

"  They  are  very  slight,  poor  thing  !  .She  had  been  in  one  of  her 
bad  states — though  they  had  got  better  of  late,  rather  than  worse 
— for  four  days,  when  she  came  out  of  it  in  the  evening,  just  at 
tea-time,  and  said,  quite  plainly,  'Joe.'  As  she  had  never  said 
any  word  for  a  long  while,  I  ran  and  fetched  in  Mr.  (largely  from 
the  forge.  She  made  signs'  to  me  that  she  wanted  him  to  sit  down 
close  to  her,  and  wanted  me  to  put  her  arms  round  his  neck.  So 
I  put  them  round  his  neck,  and  she  laid  her  head  down  on  his 
shoulder  quite  content  and  satisfied.  And  so  she  presently  said 
'Joe'  again,  and  once  '  Par.don,'  and  once  'Pip.'  And  so  she 
never  lifted  her  head  up  any  more  ;  and  it  was  just  an  hour  later 
when  we  laid  ii  down  on  her  own  bed,  because  we  found  she  was 
gone." 

Biddy  cried  ;  the  darkening  garden,  and  the  lane,  and  the  stars 
that  were  coming  out  were  blurred  in  my  own  sight. 
"  Nothing  was  ever  discovered,  Biddy  ?" 
"Nothing."' 
"  Do  you  know  what  is  become  of  Orlick  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATION*.  527 

"  I  should  think,  from  the  color  of  his  clothes,  that  he  is  work 
in  the  quarries." 

"  ( )f  course  yop  have  seen  him  then  ?  Why  are  you  looking  at 
that  dark'  tree  in  the  lane  ?" 

"  1  saw  hi. a  there  op  the  qjght  she  died." 

J8#I"hat  was  not  the  las!  lime  either,  Biddy  V 

"No  ;  I  have  seen  him  there  since  we  have  been  walking  herd. 
It's  of  no  use."  said  Biddy,  laying  her  band  upon  my  arm  as  I 
was  for  running  out  ;  "  you  know  I  would  nor  deceive  you  ;  he  was 
not.  there  a  minute,  and  lie  is  gone." 

It  revived  my  utmost  indignation  to  find  that  she  was  still  pur- 
sued by  this  fellow,  and  I  felt  inveterate  against  hi  ;;.  1  lold  her 
no.  and  lold  her  that  i  would  spend  any  money  or  fake  any  pains 
to  drive  him  out  of  that  country.  By  degrees,  she  led  me  into  more 
temperate  talk,  and  she  told  me  how  Joe  loved  me,  and  how 
never  complained  of  any  thing — she  didn't  say  of  me  ;  she  had  no 
need  ;  I  knew  what  she  meant — but  ever  did  his  duty  in  his 
of  life  with  a  strong  hand,  a  quiet  tongue,  and  a  gentle  heart. 

»".Indeed   if   would    be   hard  to   say  too  much  for  him."  said  I  ; 
"and  Biddy,  we  must  often  speak   of  these  things,  for  of  course   i 
shall  be  often  down  here  now.      I  am  not  going  to  leave  poor  J(  e 
• 

Hiddy  said  ne\tT  a  single  word. 

•  lUddv.  don't^vou  bear  me  ?" 

•'Yes.  Mr.  Pip." 

•'  Not  to  mention  your  calling  me  Mr.  Tip — which  appears  to  me 
to  be  in  bad  taste,  Biddy — what  do  you  mean  ?" 

'•  What  do  1  mean  ?"  asJiieJ.  Biddy,  timidly. 

••  Biddy,"  'aid  I,  in  a  vu;tubusly  self-asserting  manner,  "  1  must 
request  to  know  what  von  mean  by  this  ?" 

"By  this  ;■  "  said  Biddy. 

"  Now,  don't  echo,"  i  retorted.     "You  used  not  toecbo,  Biddy." 

"  Used  nm  !  "'  said  Biddy.     "  Oh,  Mr.  Pip  !     I'sed  !  " 

We'd  !  I  rather  thought  I  would  give  up  that  point  too.  After 
another  silent  turn  in  the  garden  I  fell  back  on  the  main  position. 

*'  Piddy,"  said  I,  "  1  made  a  remark  respecting  my  coining  down 
here  often  to  see  Joe,  which  you  received  with  a  marked  silence. — 
Have  the  goodness,  Biddy,  to  tell  me  why.'' 

•'  Are  you  quite  sine,  then,  that  you  will  eome  to  see  him  of- 
ten '?*'  asked  Biddy,  stopping  in  the  narrow  garden  walk,  and  look- 
ing at  me  under  the  stars  with  a  clear  and  honest  eye. 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  said  1,  as  if  I  found  myself  compelled  to  give 
up  Biddy  in  despair.  "This  really  is  a  very  bad  side  of  human 
nature!  Don't  say  any  more,  if  you  please,  Biddy.  This  shocks 
nie  very  much/' 

For  which  cogent  reason  I  kept  Biddy,  at  a  distance  during  sup- 
per, and  when  I  went  up  to  my  own  old  little  room  took  as  stately 


fc«  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  leave  of  her  as  I  could,  in  my  murmuring  soul,  deem  reconcila- 
ble with  the  church-yard  and  the  event  of  the  day.  As  often  as  I 
was  restless  in  the  night,  and  that  was  every  quarter  of  an  hour,  I 
reflected  what  an  unkindness,  what  an  injury,  What  an  injustice 
Biddy  had  done  me. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  was  to  go.  'Early  in  the  morning  I  was 
out,  and  looking  in,  unseen,  at  one  of  t!ic  wooden  windows  of  the 
f6nge.  There  I  stood,  for  minutes,  looking  at  Joe,  already  at  work, 
with  a  glow  of  health  and  strength  upon  his  face  that  made  it  show 
as  if  the  bright  sun  of  the.  life  in  store  for  him  were  shining  on  it. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Joe  ! — No  don't  wipe,  it  oil' — far  God's  sake  give 
me  your  blackened  hand  !     I  shall  be  down  soon,  and  often." 

"  Never  too  soon,  Sir,"  said  .Joe,  "  and  never  too  often,  Pip  !  " 

Biddy  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  kitchen  door,  with  a  nTug  of 
new  milk  and  a  crust  of  bread.  "  Biddy,"  said  I,  when  i  gave  her 
my  hand  at  parting,  "  I  am  not  angry;  but  1  am  hurt!" 

"No,  don't  he  hurt."  she  pleaded  quite  paihetically  ;  "let  only 
me  he  hm't.  if  1    have,  been  ungenerous." 

( hice  more  the  mists  were  rising  as    I  walked   away.      if  (J 
disclosed  to  me,  as  I  suspect  they  did,  that  1. shiuld  not  come  baek, 
and  that  Biddy  was  quite  right,  all  I  can  say  is — they  were  quite 
right  too. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


Hi5R[;ERT-and  I  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  in  the  way  of  in- 
creasing our  debts,  looking  into  our  affairs,  leaving  margins,  and 
the  like  exemplary  transaction^;  and  Time  went  on,  whether  orno, 
as  he  has  a  way  of  dUfrig  ;  and  1  came  of  age  in  fulfillment,  of 
Herbert's  prediction  that  I  should  do  so  before  I  knew  where  I 
was. 

Herbert,  himself  had  come  of  age  eight,  months  before  me.  As 
he  had  nothing  else  than  his  majority  to  come  into,  the  event  did  no; 
make  a  profound  sensation  in  Barnard's  Inn.  But  we  had  looked 
forward  to  my  one-and-twentieth  birthday  with  a  crowd  of  specu- 
lations and  anticipations,  for  we  had  both  considered  that  my  guar- 
dian could  hardly  help  saying  something  definite  on  that.occa- 
siou. 

I  had  taken  care  to  have  it  well  understood  in  Little  Britain 
when  my  birthday  was.  On  the  day  before  it  I  received  an  official 
note  from  Wemmick,  informing  me  that  Mr.  J  aggers  would  be  glad 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS;  229 

if  I  would  call  upon  him  at  five  in  the  afternoon  of  the  aus-pic 

day.  This  convinced  ns  1  hat  something  great  was  to  happen,  and 
threw  me  into  an  ■unusual  flutter  when  I  repaired  to  my  guardian's 
offiee,  a  model  of  punctuality. 

jjLn  the  ouier  oiliee  Wemmick  offered  me  his  congratulations,  and 
incidentally  ruhhed  the  side  of  his  nose  with  a  folded  piece  el' tissue-pa- 
lter that  1  liked  the  look  of.  Hut  he  said  nothing  respecting  it, 
and  motioned  me  with  a  nod  into  my  guardian's  room.  It  was 
November,  and  my  guardian  was  standing  before  Ids  tire  loaning 
his  hack  against  the  chimney-piece,  with  his  hands  under  his  coat- 
tails. 

"  Well.  Pip,"  said  lie.  "  I  must  call  you  Mr.  Pip  to-day.  Con- 
gratulations, Mr.  Pip." 

We  shook  hands — he  was  always  a'  remarkable  short  shaker — 
and   1  thanked  him. 

"  Take  a  chair.  Mr.  Pip,"  said  my  guardian. 

As  1  sat  down,  and  he  preserved  his  attitude  and  bent  his  brows 
at  his  boots,  1  fell  at  a  disadvantage,  which  reminded  nfo  of  that 
(dd  time  when  I  had  been  put  upon  a  tomb  stone.  The  two  ghast- 
ly casts  ou  the  shelf  were  not  far  from  him,  and  their  expression 
was  as  if  they  were  making  a  stupid  appoplectio  attempt  to  attend 
to  the  conversation. 

"  Now.  my  young  friend,"  my  guardian  began,  as  if  I  were  a 
witness  in  the  box,  ':  1  am  going  to  have  a  word  or  two  with  you." 

"  If  you  please,  Sir." 

"  What  do  you  suppose,"  said  Mr.  daggers,  bending  forward  to 
look  at  the  ground,  and  then  throwing  his  head  back  to  look  at 
the  ceiling,  "  what  do  you  suppose  you  are  living  at  the  rate  of'?" 

■•  At  the  rate  of,  Sir  '." 

"At,"  repeated  Mr.  daggers,  still  looking;  at  the  ceiling,  "  the — 
rate — id*?"  And  then  looked  all  around  the  room,  and  paused  with 
his  pocket-handkerchief  in  his  hand,  half  way  to  his  nose. 

I   had  loo  :ed  into  my  affairs  so  often  that  1  had  thoroughly  de- 
stroyed any  slight  notion  1  might  ever  have  had  of  their  bearings. 
Reluctantly.  I  confessed   myself  quite  unable   to  answer  the  q 
tion.     This  reply  seemed  agreeable  to   Mr.  daggers,  who  said,  "  I 
thought  so  !  "  and  blew  his  nose  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

'•  Now.  I  have  asked  yqu  a  question,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  -Tag- 
gers.    "  Have  you  anything  to  ask  me  '."     . 

••  ( )f  course  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  me  to  ask  you  several 
questions,  Sir  ;  but  I  remember  your  prohibition." 

"  Ask  one."  said  Mr.  daggers. 

■•  Is  my  benefactor  to  be  made  known  to  me  to-day  V 

"  Xo.      Ask  another." 

"  Is  that  confidence  to  be  imparted  to  me  soon  ?  " 

"  Waive  that  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  "  and  ask  an- 
other." 


230  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  looked  about  me,  but  there  appeared  to  be  now  no  possible 
escape  from  the  inquiry,  "  Have — I — anything  to  .receive,  Sir  1 " — 
On  that  Mr.  Jaggers  said,  triumphantly,  "  T  thought  We  should 
come  to  it !"  and  called  to  YVemmiek  to  give  him  that  piece  of 
paper.     Wemmiek  appeared,  handed  it  in,  and  disappeared. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Pip,"  said  Mr.  J  aggers,  "  attend,  if  you  please.-— 
You  have  been  drawing  pretty  freely  here;  your  name  occurs 
pretty  often  in  Wemmick's  cash-book ;  but  you  are  in  debt  of 
course ■] " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  say  yes,  Sir." 

"  You  know  you  must  say  yes,  don't  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"Yes,  Sir." 

"  1  don't  ask  you  what  you  owe,  because  you  don't  know  ;  and 
if  you  did  know  you  wouldn't  tell  me — you  wonld  say  less.  Yes, 
yes,  my  friend,"  cried  Mr.  Jaggers,  waiving  his  fprtsfijiger  to  stop 
me,  as  I  made  a  show  of  protesting,  "it's  likely  enough  that  you 
think  you  wouldn't,  but  you  would.  You'll  excuse  mc  but  1  know 
better  than  you.  Now  take  this  piece  of  paper  in  your  hand. — 
You  have  got  it  /  Verv  good.  Now  Unfold  it  and  tejl]  me  what  it 
is.'' 

"  This  is  a  bank  note,"  said  I,  "  for  five  hundred  pounds." 

"That  is  a  bank  note,"  repeated  Mr.  Jaggers,  J' for  I'm-  hundred 
pounds.  And  a  very  handsome  sum  of  money,  too,  I  think.  You 
consider  it  so  ?" 

"  How  could  I  do  otherwise  !" 

;h  !     But  answer  the  question,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  Undoubtedly^/' 

"  You  consider  it.  undoubtedly,  a  handsome  sum  of  money/  Now 
that  handsome  sum  of  money,  Pip,  is  your  own.  It  is  a  present  to 
you  on  this  day,  in  earnest  (if  your  expectations.  And  at  the  rate 
of  that  handsome  sum  of  money  per  annum,  and  at  no  higher  rate, 
you  are  to  live  until  the  donor  of  the  whole  appears.  That  is  to 
hay,  you  will  now  take  your  money  affairs  entirely  into  your  own 
hands,  and  you  will  draw  from  YVemmiek  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  pounds  per  quarter,  until  you  are  in  communication  with  the 
fountain-head,  and  no  longer  with  the  mere  agent.  As  I  have  told 
you  before,  I  am  the  mere  agent.  I  execute  my  instructions,  and 
I  am  paid  for  doing  so.  I  think  them  injudicious,  but  I  am  not 
paid  for  giving  any  opinion  on  their  merits. 

I  was  beginning  to  express  my  gratitude  to  my  benefactor  for 
the  great  liberality  with  which  I  was  treated,  when  Mr.  Jaggers 
stopped  me.  "I  am  not  paid,  Pip,"  said  he,  coolly,  "to  carry 
your  words  to  any  one;"  and  then  gathered  up  his  coat-tails,  as 
tie  had  gathered  up  the  subject,  and  stood  frowning  at  his  boots 
as  if  he  suspected  them  of  designs  agaiust  him. 

After  a  pause,  I  hinted: 

"  There  was  a  question  just  now,  Mr.  Jaggers,  which  you  de- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  93* 

sired  me  to  waive  for  a  moment.     I  hope  I  am  dtfing   nothing 
Wrong  in  asking  it  again  '." 

"  What,  is  it  r  said  he. 

I  mi^ht  have  kno\vn  that  he  would  never  help  me  out:  but  it 
took  me  aback  to  have  to  shape  the  question  afresh,  as  if  it  were 
quite  new.  "  Is  it  likely."  I  said,  afu-r  hesitating,  "  that  my 
patron,  the  fountain-head  you  have  spokn  of,  Mr.  J  aggers,  wil  1 
soon — "     There  I  delicately  stopped. 

"  Will  soon  what  ?"  said  Mr.  daggers.  "  That's  no  question  as 
it  stands,  you  know." 

•'  Wi  1  soon  come  to  London,"  said  I,  after  casting  ahout  for  a 
precise  form  of  words,  "or  summon  me  any  where  else.'" 

"Nowhere."  replied  Mr.  Jaggers,  fixing  me  for  the  first  time 
with  his  dark  deep-set  eyes,  "we  must  revert  to  the  evening  when 
we  first  encountered  one  another  in  your  village.  '  What  did  I  tell 
you  then,  Pip  ?." 

"You  told  me,  Mr.  Jaggers,  that  it  might  be  years  hence  when 
that  person  appeared." 

"Just  So,"  said  Mr  daggers,   "  that's  my  answer." 

As  we  looked  full  at  one  another  I  felt  my  breath  come  quicker 
in  my  strong  desire  to  get  something  out  of  him.  And  as  I  felt 
that  ii  came  quicker,  and  as  I  felt  that  be  saw  that  it  came  (puck- 
er. I  tell  that  1  had  less  chance  than  ever  of  getting  any  thing  out 
of  him. 

••  Do  you  suppose  it  will  still  he  years  hence,  Mr.  Jaggers  V 

Mr.  Jaggers  shook  his  head — not  m  negativing  the  question, 
hiit  in  altogether  negativing  the  notion  that  he  could  anyhow  be 
got  to  answer  it — and  the  two  horrible  casts  of  the  twitched  faces 
looked,  when  my  eyes  strayed  up  to  them,  as  if  they  had  come  to 
a  crisis  in  their  suspended  attention,  and  were  going  to  sneeze. 

"Come!"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  warming  the  backs  of  his  legs 
with  his  warmed  hands,  "  I'll  be  plain  with  yon,  my  friend,  Pip. 
'That's  a  question  I  must  not  be  asked  You'll  understand  that 
better  when  1  tell  you  it's  a  question  that  might  compromise  me. 
Come!  I'll  go  a  little  further  with  you;  I'd  say  something 
more." 

lie  bent  down  so  low  to  rown  at  his  boots  that  he  was  able  to 
rub  the  calves  of  his  fegs  in  the  pause  he  made. 

"  When  that  person  discloses."  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  straightening 
himself,  "you  and  that  person  will  settle  your  own  affairs.  When 
that  person  discloses,  my  part  in  this  business  will  cease  and  de- 
termine. When  that  person  discdoses,  it  will  not  he  necessary 
for  me  to  know  any  thing  about  it.  And  that's  all  I  have  got  to 
say." 

•  We  looked  at  one  another  until  I  withdrew  my  eyes,  and  looked 
thoughtfully  at  the  floor.  From  this  last  speech  I  derived  the 
notion   that  Miss  Havisham,  for  some  reason   or  no  reason,  had 


232  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

not  taken  him  into  her  confidence  as  to  her  designing- rae  for  Es- 
tella;  that  he  resented  this,  and  felt  a  jealousy  about  it;  or  that, 
he  really  d<id  object,  to  that  scheme,  and  would  have  nothing  to  dn 
with  it.  When  I  raised  my  eyes  again  I  found  that  he  had  been 
shrewdly  looking  at  me  ali  the  time,  and  was  doing  so  still. 

"  If  that  is  all  you  have  to  say,  Sir,"  I  remarked,  "  there  can 
be  n< itliing- left  for  me  to  say." 

He  nodded  assent,  and  pulled  out  his  thief-dreaded  watch,  and 
asked  me  where  I  was  going  to  dine  ?  I  replied  at  my  own  cham- 
bers, with  Herbert.  As  a  necessary  sequence,  I  as!  <  ;1  him  if  he 
would  favor  us  with  his  company,  and  he  promptly  accepted  the 
invitation.  But  lie  insisted  on  walking  home  with  me,  in  order 
that  I  might  make  no. extra  preparation  for  him,  and  first  he  had 
a  :etler  or  iwo  to  write,  and(of  course)  had  his  hands  to  wash. 
So  I  said  I  would  go  into  the  outer  office  and  talk  to  Wemmiek. 

The  fact  was,  that  when  the  five  hundred  pounds  had  come  into 
my  pocket,  a  thought  had  come  into  my  bead  which  had  been 
often  there  before ;  and  it  appeared  to  me  that  Wemmiek  was  a 
good  person  to  advise  with  concerning  such  thought. 

He  had  already  loek'ed  up  his  safe,  and  made  preparations  lor 
going  home.  He  had  left  his  desk,  brought,  out  his  two  gre«s\ 
oii'ec  candlesticks  and  stood  tlfein  in  line  with  the  snuffers  on  a 
slab  near  the  door,  ready  to  be  extinguished  ;  he 'had  raked  his  fire 
low,  put  his  hat.  and  great-coat  ready,  and  was  beating  hhiself  ali 
over  the  chest  with  his  safe-key,  as  an  athletic  e:.ereise  after 
business. 

"Mr.  Wemmiek',"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  ask  your  opinion,  i  am 
very  desirous  lo  serve  a  friend." 

Wemmiek  tightened  his  post-office  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  his 
opinion  were  dead  against  any  fata!  Weakness  of  that  sort. 

"This  friend,"  I  pursued,  "is  trying  to  get  on  in  commercial 
life,  but  lias  no  money  and  finds  it  difficult  and  disheartening  to 
make  a  beginning.  Now,  1  want  somehow  to  -help  him  to  a  begin- 
ning." 

"  With  money  down  ?"  said  Wemmiek,  in  a  tone  drier  than  any 
saw-dust. 

"  With  some  money  down,"  I  replied,  for  an  uneasy  remem- 
brance shot  across  me  of  that  symmetrical  bundle  of  papers  at 
home  ;  "  with  som&  money  down,  and  perhaps  some  anticipation  of 
my  expectations." 

"jVIr.  Pip,"  said  Wemmiuk,  "I  should  like  just  to  run  over 
with  you  on  my  fingers,  if  you  please,  the  names  of  the  various 
bridges  up  as  high  as  Chelsea  Reach.  Let's  see  :  t  here's  Lon- 
don, one;  Southwark,  two  ;'  Blackfriars.  three;  Waterloo,  four; 
Westminster,  five;  Vauxhall,  six."  He  had  checked  off  each 
bridge  in  its  tuft,  with  the  liand'e  of  his  safe-key  on  the  palm  of 
his  hand.     "  There's  as  mauy  as  six,  you  see.  choose  from.'' 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  231 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  I. 

"Choose  your  bridge,  Mr.  Pip,"  returned  Wemmick.  "and 
take  a  walk  upon  your  bridge,  and  pitch  your  money  into  (be 
Thames  over  the  renin-  arch  of  your  bridge,  and  you  know  t he 
end  of  it.  Serve  a  friend  w'ih  it,  and  you  may  know  the  end  of 
it  too — but  it's  a  less  pleasant  and  profitable  end." 

I  could  have  posted  a  newspaper  in  his  mouth,  he  made  it  so 
wide  after  saying  this. 

"  This  is  \  cry  discouraging,"  said  I. 

•  "  Meant,  to  he.  '  said  Weinniick. 

"Then  is  it  your  opinion,''  1  inquired,  with  some  little  indigna- 
tion, "  (hat-  a  man  should  never — " 

" — Invest  portable  property  in  a  friend?"  said  YVemmiek. 
"  Certainly  he  should  not.  Unless  he  wants  to  get  rid  of  the 
friend — and  then  it.  heroines  a  question,  how  much  portable' pro- 
perty it  may  b.e  worth  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"And  that,"  said  1.  "is  vour  deliberate  opinion,  Mr.  Wem- 
mick T 

"  That,"   he  returned,   "is  my  deliberate  opinion  in  this  office." 

"Ah!"  said  I.  pressing  him,  fori  thought  I  saw- him  near  a 
loophole  here;   "but  would  that  be  your  opinion  at  Walworth  :' 

"  Mr.  Tip."  he  replied,  with  gravity,  "  Walworth  is  one  place, 
and  this  office  is  another.  Much  as  l  he  Aged  is  one  person,  and 
Mr.  daggers  is  another.  They  must  not  be  confounded  together. 
My  Walworth  sentiments  must  be  taken  at  Walworih;  none  but 
my  official  sentiments  can  be  taken  in  thisoffice." 

"  Very  well*",  said  I,  much  relieved,  "  then  I  shall  look  you  up 
at  Walworih,  you  may  depend  upon  it," 

"Mr.  Pip,"  he  returned,  "  you  will  be  welcome  there  in  a  pri- 
vate.and  personal  capacity." 

We  had  held  this  conversation  in  a  low  voice,  well  knowing  my 
guardian  s  ears  to  be  the  sharpest,  of  the  sharp.  As  he  now  ap- 
peared i«  his  door-wny.  toweling  his  hands,  Wemmick  got  on  his 
great-coat  and  stood  by  io  snuff  out  the  caudles.  We  al  ihree 
went  into  the  street  together,  and  from  tin-  door-step  Wemmick 
turned  his  way.  and  Mr.  daggers  and  I  turned  ours. 

I  could  not  help  wishing  more  than  once  that  evening  that  Mr. 
daggers  had  an  Angel  ill  (ierrard  Street,  or  a  Stinger,  or  a  Some- 
thing, or  a  Somebody,  to  unbend  his  brows  a  little.  It  was  an  un- 
comfortable consideration  on  a  twenty-first  birthday,  that  coming 
of  age  at  all  seemed  hardly  worth  while  in  such  a  guarded 
suspicious  world  as  he  made  of  it.  He  was  a  thousand  times  bet- 
ter informed  and  cleverer  than  Wemmick,  and  yet  1  would  a  thou- 
sand times  rather  have  had  Wemmick  to  dinner.  And  Mr.  Jtig- 
gers  made  not  me  alone  intensely  melancholy,  because,  after  he  was 
gone,  Herbert  said  of  himself,  with  bis  eyes  fixed  oh  the  fire,  that 
lie  thought  he  mus  have  committed  a  fcllony  aud  forgotten  it,  liu 
felt  *o  dejected  and  guLliy 


234  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


Deemixu  Sunday  the  best  day  for  taking-  Mr.  Wemmick's  Wal- 
worth sentiments,  I  devoted  the  .next  ensuing  Sunday  alternoon  to 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  Castle.  On  arriving  before. the  battlements  VI 
found  the  Union  Jack  flying  and  the  drawbridge' up  ;  but  undeter- 
red by  this  show  of  defiance  and  resistance,  I  rang  at  the  gate,  and 
was  admitted  in  a  most  pacific  manner  by  the  Aged. 

"My  son,  Sir,"  said  the  old  man  after  securing  the  drawbridge, 
"rather  had  it  in  his  mind  That  you.  might  happen  to  drop  in,  and 
he  left  word  that  he  would  soon  be  home  from  his  afternoon's  walk. 
He  is  very  regular  in  his  walks,  is  my  son.  Very  regular  in  eve- 
rything, is  my  son." 

I  nodded  at  the  old  gentleman  as  Wemmick  himself  might  have 
nodded,  and  we  went  in  and  sat.  down  by  the  fireside. 

"You  made  acquaintance  with  my  son,  Sir,"  said  the  old  man, 
in  his  chirping  way,  while  he  warmed  his  hands  at  the  blaze,  "  at 
his  office,  1  expect  ?"  I  nodded.  "  Hah  !  I  have  heerd  that  my 
son  is  a  wonderful  hand  at  his  business.  Sir!"  I  nodded  hard. — 
"Yes;  so  they  tell  me.'  His  business  is  the  Law  1 ".  I  nodded 
harder.  "Which  makes  it- more  surprising  in  my  son,"  said  the 
old  man,  "for  he  was  not  brought  up  to  tlie  Law,  but  to  the 
Wine-Coopering." 

Curious  to  know  how  the  obi  gentleman  stood  informed  concern- 
ing the  reputation  of  Mr.  Jaggers,  I  roared  that  name  at  him. — 
He  threw  me  into  the  greatest  confusion  by  laughing  heartily,  and 
replying,  in  a  very  sprightly  manner,  "  No,  to  be  sure*  you're 
right."  And  to  this  hour  1  have  not  the  faintest  notion  what  he 
meant,  or  what  joke  he  thought  I   iiad  made. 

As  I  could  not  sit  there  nodding  at  him  perpetually,  without 
making  some  other  attempt  to  interest  him,  I  shouted  an  inquiry 
whether  his  own  calling  in  life  had  been  "the  Wine  Coopering." 
By  dint  of  straining  that  term  out  of  myself  several  times,  and 
tapping  the  old  gentleman  on  the  chest  to  associate  it  with  him,  1 
at  last  succeeded  in  making  my  meaning  understood. 

"No,"  said  The  old  gentleman ;  "the  warehousing  the  ware- 
housing. First  over  yonder;''  he  appeared  to  mean  up  the  chim- 
ney, but  I  believe  he  intended  to  refer  me  to  Liverpool ;  "  and  then 
in  the  city  of  London  here.  However,  having  an  infirmity — for  I 
am  hard  of  hearing,  Sir — " 

I  expressed  in  pantomime  the  greatest  astonishment. 


GREAT  EXPECTATION.?. 

" — Yes',  hard  pf  hearing)  having  that  infirmity  coining  upon 
me,  my  sun  he  wenl  into  the  Law,  and  he  took  charge  of  me,  and 
he  by  little  and  little  made  out  this  elegant  and  beautiful  proper- 
ty. I'm  returning  to  what  you  said,  you  know,"  pursued  the  old 
man,  agajn  laughing  heartily,  "what  I  say  is.  No  to  be  sure;  you're 
right." 

I  was  modestly  wondering  whether  my  utmost  ingenuity  would 
have  enabled  tue  to  say  anything  t  at  would  have  amused  him  half 
as  much  as  this  imaginary  pleasantry,  when  I  was  startled  by  a 
sudden  (dick  in  the  wall  on  one  side  of  the  chimney,  and  the  ghost- 
ly tumbling  open  of  a  little  wooden  flap  with  "  John  "  upon  it. — 
Tbe  old  man,  following  my  eye-,  cried  with  graaf  triumph,  "  My 
sun's  come  home  !  "  and  we  both  went  ont  to  the  drawbridge. 

It  was  wort!)  any  money  to  see  \\  emmick  waving  a  salute  to  me 
from  the  other  side  of  tin'  moat,  when  we  might  have  shaken  hands 
across  it  with  the  greatest  ease.  The  Aged  was  so  delighted  to 
work  the  drawbridge  that  1  made  no  offer  to  assist  him,  and  stood 
quiet  until. Wcnimick  had  come  across,  and  had  presented  me  to 
Miss  Skiftins:   a  lady  by  whom  he  was  accompanied. 

Miss  t^kitnns  was  of  wooden  appearance,  and  was,  like  iter  es- 
cort, in  the  post-oihee.  branch  of  the  serviee.  She  might  havebeen 
some  two  or  three  years  younger  than.  Wcmmiek,  and  1  judged  her 
to  stand  possessed  of  portable  property.  The  cut  of  her  dress 
from  the  waist  upward,  both  before  and  behind,  made  her  ii, 
very  like  a  boy's  kite:  and  1  might  have  pronounced  her  gown 
a  little  too  decidedly  orange,  and  her  gloves  a  little  too  intensely 
green.  But  she  seemed  to  be  a  very  good  sort  of  fellow,  and  show- 
ed a  high  regard  for  the  Aged.  i  was  not  long  in  discovering 
that  she  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  (,'astle;  for.  on  our  going  in. 
and  my  complimenting  Wemmick  on  his  ingenious  contrivance  for 
announcing  himself  to  the  Aged,  he  begged  me  to  give  my  atten- 
tion for  a  moment  to  the  other  side  oi  the  chimney,  and  disappear- 
ed. •  Presently  another  click  came,  and  another  little  door  tumbled 
open  with  "  Miss  Skiffins"  on  it ;  then  .Miss  Skiliins  shut  up.  and 
John  tumbled  open:  then  Miss  SkiHins  and  John  both  tumbled 
Open  together,  and  finally  shut  up  together.  <  Mi  Wemmick's  return 
from  wording  these  mechanical  appliances  I  expressed  the  great 
admiration  with  which  1  regarded  them,  and  he  said,  "Well,  yon 
know,  they're  both  pleasant  and  useful  to  the  Aged.  And  by 
George,  Sir,  it's  a  thing  worth  mentioning,  that?  of  all  the  pi  i 
who  come  to  this  gate,  Uie  secret  of  those  pulls  is  only  known  \o 
the  Aged,  Miss  Skitlins,  anil  me!  " 

"Ami  Mr.  Wemmick  made  them,"  added  Miss  Skiffins,  "  with 
his  own  hands  out  of  his  own  head." 

While   Miss  Skiliins  was  taking  off  her  bonnet  (she  retained  Iter 
green  gloves  during  the  evening,  as  an  outward  and   visjlrie 
that  there  was   company),  Wemmick   i  vited    mo   to    tola 


236    "  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

with  him  round  the  property*  and  see  how  the  island  looked  in 
wintertime.  Thinking  that  he  did  this  to  give  me  an  opportunity 
of  taking  his  Walworth  sentiments,  1  seized  the  opportunity  as 
soon  as  we  were  out  of  the  Castle. 

Having  thought  of  the  matter  with  care,  T  approached  my  su-h- 
j  vt  as  if  I  had  never  hinted  at  it  before.  I  informed  WerhmicK 
t  iat  I  was  anxious  in  behalf  of  Herbert  Pocket,  and  I  I  old  him  how 
we  had  first  met,  and  how  we  had  fought,  I  glanced  at  Herbert's 
home  and  at  his  character,  at  his  having  no  means  but  such  as  he  was 
dependent  on  his  father  for:  those,  uncertain  and  unpimctual.  I 
alluded  to  the  advantages  I  had  derived  in  my  first  rawness  and 
ignorance  from  hi*  society,  and  I  confessed  that  I  feared  I  had 
but  ill  repaid, them,  and  that  he  might  have  done  better  without 
me  and  my  expectations.  Keeping  Miss  Havisham  in  the  back 
ground  at  a  great  distance,  I  still  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  my 
having  competed  with  him  in  his  prospects,  and  at  the  certainty  of 
his  possessing  a  generous  soul,  and  being  far  above  any  mean  dis- 
trusts, retaliations,  or  designs!  For  all  these  reasons  (I  told  Wem- 
mick),  and  because  he  was  my  young  companion  and  friend,  and  I 
had  a  great  affection  for  him,  I  wished  my  own  good  fortune  to 
reflect  some  rays  upon  him,  and  therefore  I- sought  advice  from 
Wemmick's  experience .and.  knowledge  of  men  and  affairs,  how  I 
could  best  try  with  my  resources  to  help  Herbert  to  somt\  present 
income — say  of  a  hundred  a  year,  to  keep  him  in  good  hope  and 
neari — and  gradually  to  buy  him  on  to. some  small  partnership. — 
1  begged  Wemmick,  in  conclusion,  to  understand  that  niy  help 
must  always  be  rendered  without  Herbert's  knowledge  or  suspi- 
cion, and  that  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  world  with  whom  I 
potild  advice,  i  wound  up  by  laying  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  saying,  "  I  can't  help  onfiding  in  you,  though  I  know  it  must 
be  troublesome  to  you;  but  that  is  your  fault  in  having  ever  brought 
me  here," 

Wemmick  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  then  said  with  a 
kind  of  start,  "  Well,  you  know,  Mr.  Pip,  I  must  tell  you  one 
thing.    This  is  devilish  good  of  yofi." 

"  Say  you'll  help  me  to  be  good,  then,"  said  I. 

'•  Ecod,"  replied  Wemmick,  shaking  his  head,  "  that's  not  my 
trade." 

"  Nor  is  this  your  trading-place,"  said  I. 

"You're  right,"  he  returned.  "You  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 
Mr.  Pip,  I'll  put  on  my  considering-cap,  and  I  think  all  you  want 
to  do  may  be  dune  by  degrees.  Skiffins  (that's  her  brother)  is 
an  accountant  and  agent,  I'll  look  him  up  and  go  to  work  for 
you."  # 

"  I  thank  you  ten  thousand  times.'" 

"  On  the  contrary."  said  he,  "  I  thank  you,  for  though  we  are 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  237 

strictly  in  our  private  and  personal  Opacity,  still,  there  arc  New- 
gale cobwebs  about,  and  it'brushes  them  away." 

After  a  little-  furilx-r  conversation  to  the  same  effect  we  return- 
ed into  the  Castle,  where  we  found  Miss  Skiflins  preparing  tea. 
The  responsibly  duty  (ff  making  the  toast  was  delegated  to  the 
Aged,  and  that  excellent  old  gentleman  was  so  intent  upon  it 
that  he  seemed  to  me  in  some  danger  of  melting  his  eyes.  It  was 
no  nominal  meal  that  we  were,  going  to  make,  bu'  a  vigormrs  re- 
ality. The  Aged  prepared  such  a  hay-stack  of  lmltered  toast 
that  1  could  scarcely  see  him  over  it  as  il  simmered  on  an  'nam 
stand  hooked  on  to  the  top-har;  while  Mi<s  Skiflins  brewed  such 
a  j  rum  of  tea  that  the  pig  in  the  hack  premises  became  strongly 
excited,  and  audibly  expressed  his  desire  to  participate  in  the.  en- 
tertainment. 

The  flag  had  been  struck-  and  the  gun  had  been  fired  at  the 
right  moment  of  time,  ai  Q  I  fe  I  as  -nu-ly  cut  off  from  the  rest  of 
Walworth  as  if  the  moat  wt  re  t!  irty  feci  wide  by  as  many  deep. 
Not'hii  g  disturbed  the  tranquility  of  the  Cast  le  but  the  occasional 
iiig  open  of  .loh'n  and  Miss  Skiflins;  which  lilte  doors 
were  a  prey  to  some  spasmodic  iuiirntity  that  made  me  sympa- 
thetically uncomfortable  until  1  got  used  to  it.  1  inferred  from 
ike  methodical  nature  of  Miss  Skiffin's  arrangements  that  she 
made  tea  there  every  Sunday  night:  audi  rather  suspected  that 
a  classic  brooch  she  wore,  representing  the  profile  of  an  umicsirn- 
b  e  female  with  a  very  straight  nose  and  a  very  new  moon,  was  a 
piece  of  portable  property  that  had   been  given  her  by  Wemmick. 

We  ate  the  whole  of  Jhe  toast  and  drank  tea  in  proportion,  and 
it  was  delightful  to  see  how  warm  and  greasy  we  all  got  after  it. 
Tie  Aged  especially,  might  bare  passed  for  some  clean  old  chief 
of  a  savage  tribe,  just  oih  d.  After  a  short  pause  of  repose.  Miss 
Sklffiha — in  the  absence  pf  the  little  servant  who,  it  seemed,  re- 
tired to  the  bosom  of  her  family  on  Sunday  afternoons — washed 
up  \\a-  tea  things  in  a  trifling  lady-like  amateur  manner  that  <■ 
premised  mmc  of  us.  Then  she  put  on  her  gloves  again,  and  we 
drew  round  ike  fire,  and  Wemmick  said,  "Now  Aged  Parent,  tip 
us  the  paper." 

Wemmick  explained  to  me  whi'e  the  Aged  got  his  spectacles 
OUt,  that  ibis  was  according  to  custom,  aikl  thai  it  gave  the  old 
gentleman  infinite  satis/action  to  read  the  news  aloud.  "1  Won't 
offer  an  apology."  said  Wemmick.  "for  he  isn't  capable  of  man) 
pleasures — are  you  aged  1'.  ?." 

"  All  right.  John,  all  right,"  returned  the  old  man,  seeing  him- 
self spoki  a  to. 

"Only  tip  him  a  nod  every  now  and  then  when  he  looks  off  his 
paper,"  said  Wemmick,  "  and  be'U  be  as  happy  as  a  king.  We 
are  all  atiejiLiija,  Aged  Qua." 


S38  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  All  right,  John,  all  right !"  returned  the  cheerful  old  man  :  so 
busy  and  so  pleased  that  it  really  was  quite  eharpiihg: 

The  Aged's  reading  reminded  me  of  the  classes  at  Mr.  Wop- 
sle's  great-aunt's  with  t.he  p'easanter  peculiarity  that  it  seem- 
ed to  come  through  a  keyhole.  As  he  wanted  the  candles 
close  to  him,  and  as  he  was  always  on  the  verge  of  putting  either 
his  head  or  the  newspaper  into  them,  he  required  as  much  watch- 
ing as  a  powder  mill.  But  Wemmick  was  equally  untiring  and 
gentle  in  his  vigilance,  and  the  Aged  read  on,  quite  unconscious  of 
his  many  rescues.  •  Whenever  he  looked  at  us,  we  all  expressed 
"he  greatest  interest  and  amazement,  and  nodded  until  he  re- 
sumed again. 

As  Wemmick  and  Miss  Skiffins  sat  side  by  side,  and  as  I  sat 
in  a  shadowy  corner,  I  observed  a  slow  and  gradual  elongation  of 
Mr.  Wemmick's  mouth,  powerfully  suggestive  of  his  s  owly  and 
gradually  stealing  hi'-  arm  round  Miss  SiThns's'waist.  In  course 
oi  tjme  1  saw  his  hand  appear  on  the  otter  side  of  Miss  Skiffins ; 
but  at  that  moment  Miss  Skiffins  neatly  stopped  him  with  the 
green  glove,  unwound  his  arm  again  as  if  it  were  an  article  of 
dress,  and  with  the  greatest  deliberation  laid  it  on  the  table  before 
her.  Miss  Skiffins's  composure  while  she  did  this  was  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  sights  1  have  ever  seen,  and  if  I  could  have 
thought  the  act  consistent  with  abstraction  of  mind,  I  should  have 
deemed  that  Miss  Skiffins  performed  it  mechanically. 

Bv-aiid-by  I  noticed  Wemmick's  arm  beginning  to  disappear 
again,  and  gradually  fading  out  of  view.  Shortly  afterward  his 
mouth  began  to  widen  again.  After  an  interval  of  suspense  on 
my  part  that  was  quite  enthralling  and  almost  painful,  I  saw  his 
hand  appear  on  the  other  side  of  Miss  Skiffins.  Instantly  MLss 
Skiffins  stopped  it  with  the  neatness  of  a  practiced  boxer,  look  off 
that  girdle  or  cestus  as  before,  and  laid  it  on  the  fable.  Taking 
the  table,  to  represent  the  path  of  virtue.  I  am  justified  in  stating 
that  during  the  whole  time  of  the  Aged's  reading  Wemmick's 
arm  was  straying  from  the  path  of  virtue  and  being  recalled  to  it 
by  Miss  Skiffins. 

At  last  the  Aged  read  himself  into  a  light  slumber.  This  was 
the  timer  for  Wemmick  to  produce  a  little  kettle,  a  tray  o!  glasses, 
and  a  back  bottle  with  a  porcelain-topped  cork,  representing  some 
clerical  dignity  of  a  rubicund  and  social  aspect.  With  the  aid  of 
these  appliances  we  ail  had  something  warm  to  drink :  including 
the  Aged,  who  was  soon  awake  again.  Miss  Skiffins  mixed,  and  I 
observed  that  she  and  Wemmick  drank  out-of  one  glass.  Of  course 
I  knew  better  than  to  offer  to  see  Mi^s  Skiffins  home,  and  under 
the  circumstances  I  thought  I  had  best  go  first :  which  I  did. 
taking  a  cordial  leave  of  the  Aged,  and  having  passed  a  pleasant 
evening. 

B«ifore  a  week  wag  out  I  received  a  note  from  Wemmick.  dated 


GEE  AT  EXPECTATIONS.  23  9 

Walworth,  stating  'that  lie  hoped  he  had  made  some  advance  in 
that  matter  appertaining  to  our  private  and  pefsonal  capacities, 
and  that  lie  would  he  glad  if  i  could  come  and  see  him  again  upon 
it.  So  1  went  (Mil  again,  and  yet  again,  and  yet  again,  and  I  saw 
him  by  appointment  in  the  City  several  times,  hut  never  held  any 
communication  with  him  mi  the  subject  in  or  near  Little  titain. 
Tile  upshot  was  that  we  found  a  worthy  young  merchant  or  ship- 
ping-broker, not  long  established  in  business,  who  wanted  intelli- 
gent help,  and  who  wanted  capital,  and  who  in  due  course  of  time 
and  receipt  would  want  a  partner.  Between  him  and  me  secret 
articles  were  signed  of  which  Herbert  was  the  subject,  and  1  paid 
him  half  of  my  live  hundred  pounds  down,  and  engaged  for  sundry 
other  payments:  some,  to  fall  due  at  certain  dates  out  of  my  in- 
come: some,  contingent  on  my  coming  into  my  pr  ■perty.  Miss 
Skidins's  brother  conducted  the  negotiation  :  Weiinnick  pervaded 
it  throughout,  but  never  appeared  in  it. 

The  whole  business  was  so  cleverly  managed  that  Herbert  had 
not  the  least  suspicion  of  my  hand  being  in  if.  I  never  shall  for- 
get the  radiant,  face  with  which  he  came  home  one  afternoon,  and 
told  me,  as  a  mighty  piece  of  news,  of  his  having  fallen  in  with, 
one  Clarriker  (the  young  irferohant's  name),  and  of  Clarriker  hav- 
ing shown  an- extraordinary  inc.-iiiation  toward  him.  and  ©f  his  be- 
lief that  the  opening  had  come  at  last.  Day  by. day  as  his  hope- 
grew  stronger,  ami  i;;s  face  brighter,  he  must  have  thought  me  a 
more  and  more  affectionate  friend,  for  I  had  the  greater  difficulty 
of  restraining  my  tears  of  triumph  when  I  saw  him  so  happy.  At 
length  the  thing  being  done,  and  he  having  that  day  entered  Clar- 
viker's  House,  and  lie  having  talked  to  me  for  a  whole  evening  in 
a  (lush  of  pleasure  and  success.  L  did  really  cry  in  good  earnest 
when  I  went  to  bed,  to  think  that  my  expectations  had  done  good 
to  somebody. 

A  great  event  in  my  life,  the  turning  point  of  my  life,  now  opens 
on  my  view.  Hut  before  I  proceed  fo  narrate  it.  and  before  I 
pass  on  to  all  the  changes  it  involved.  1  must  give  a  chapter  to 
Esteila.  It  is  not  much  to  give  to  the  theme  that  so  long  tilled 
;nv  heart.  $ 


240  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

that  si  aid  old  house  near  the  Green  at  Richmond  should 
ever  come  to  be  haunted  When  J  am  dead,  it  will  be  haunted,  sure- 
ly, bv  my  ghost.  Oh  the  many,  man,  nights  and  days  through 
wbrnh  the  unquiet  spirit  within  me  haunted  that  house  when  Es- 
lived  there  J  Let  my  body  be  where  it  would,  my  soul  was 
always  wandering,  wandering,  wandering,  about  that  house. 

The  lady  with  whom  Estella  was  placed,  Mi's.  Brandley  byname. 
a  widow,  with  one  daughter  several  years  older  than  Estella. 
The  mother  looked  young,  and  the  daughter  looked  old  ;  the  moth- 
er's complexion  was  pink,  and  the  daughter's  was  yellow:  the 
mother  set  up  for  frivolity,  and  the  daughter  for  theology.  They 
were  in  what  is  called  a  good  pusi'ion,'  and  visited,  and  were  vis- 
ited by,  numbers  of  people.  Little  if  any  community  of  feeing 
subsisted  between  them  and  Estella/but  the  understanding  was 
established  that  they  were  necessary  to  her,  and  that  she  was 
necessary  to  them.  Mrs.  Brandley  had  been  a  friend  of  JVKsS  Hav- 
isham's  before  the  time  of  her  seclusion. 

In  Mrs.  Brandley"s  house,  and  out  of  l\lvx.  Br.  house,  I 

suffered  every  kind  and  degree  of  torture  that  Estella  could  cause 
me.  The  nature  of  my  relations  with  her,  which  placed  meou 
terms  of  familiarity  wit  hour'  placing  me  on  terms  of  favor,  con- 
duced to  niv  distraction.  She  made  use  of  me  to  tease  other  ad- 
mirers, and  she  turned  the  very  iamiliarity  between  herself  and  me 
te  account  of  putting  a  constant  slight  on  my  devotion  to  her. 
if  1  had  been  her  secretary,  steward,  half  brother,  poor  relation — 
if  I  had  been  a  younger  brother  of  her  appointed  husband — I 
could  not  have  seemed  to  myself  further  from  my  hopes  when  1 
was  nearest  to  her.  The"  privilege  of  calling  her  by  her  name  and 
hearing  her  call  me^w  mine  became,  under  the  circumstances,  an 
aggravation  of  my  trials;  and  while  1  think  it  likely  that  it  almost 
maddened  her  other  lovers,  I  know  too  certainly  that  it  almost 
maddened  me. 

She  had  admirers  without  end.  No  doubt  my  jealousy  made  an 
admirer  of  every  one  who  went  near  her;  but  there  were  more 
than  enough  of  them  without  that, 

I  saw  her  often  at  I&chmond,  I  heard  of  her  often  in  town,  and 
I  used  often  to  take    her  and   the    Braruhcys   on   the*  water;  there- 
were  pic-nics,  fete  days,  plays,  operas,  concerts,  parties — all  sorts 
of  pleasures,  through  which  I  pursued  her — and   they  were  all 
miseries  to  nie.     I  never  had  one  hour's  happiness  in  her  society, 


••Do 
1    sin 


GHEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  sMl 

and  yet  niy  mind  all  round  the  four-arid-twenty  hours  was  harping 
on  fife  liap|)i:i  ss  of  having  her  with  me  unto  death. 

Throughout  (his  pari  of  our  intercourse — and  it  lasted — as  will 
presently  he  seen,  for  what  I  then  thought  a  lung  time — she  hab- 
itually reversed  to  that  tone  which  expressed  that  our  association 
was  forced  upon  us.  There  were  other  times  when  she  would  come 
to  a  sudden  cheek  in  this  tone  and  in  all  her  many  tones,  and 
would  seem  to  pity  me. 

"  Pip,  Pip."  she  said,  one  evening,  coming  io  such  a  cheek,  when 
we  sat  apart  at  a  darkening  window  of  the  lioM.se  in  Richmond, 
"will  you  never  take  warnim:'?'' 

•!of  whki 

"Of  Ilic." 

Warning  not  to  iie  aiiracted  by  you,  do  you  m-v  11a?" 

Ho  I  mean  !  If  you  don't  know  what  L  mean  you  are  blind." 
lould  have  reported  that  Love  was  commonly  repined  blind, 
hut  for  the  reason  thai  1  always  was  restrained — and  this  wa 
the  least  of  my  miseries — by  a  feeling  that  it  was  ungenerous  to 
press  myself  upon  her  when  she  knew  that  she  could  no  ohqo  e 
but  obey  Miss  Havisham.  My  dread  always  was  that  this  knowl- 
edge on  her'  part  laid  me  under  a  heavy  disadvantage  with  her 
pride,  and   made   me   the   subjec     of  a   rebellious   s;  m   her 

bosom. 

••  Ai  aiu  ..He."  said  1,  "]  have  no  warning  given  mo  just  now, 
for  you  wrote  to  me  in  c  line  to  you  this  time." 

••  That's  true,"  said  Kstella,  with  a  cold,  careless  smile,  thai 
ways  chilled  me. 

inter  Io  the  twilight  without  for  a  little  while,  she  went 

i  n  to  say  : 

"  The  time  has  come  round  when  Miss  Havisham  wishes  to  have 
me  for  a  day  at    Satis.      Ymi  are  to  take  me  there  and  brim 
back'  if  you  will.     She  would  rather  I  did  not  travel  ajone,  andob- 
lo  receiving  my  maid,  for  she   has  a  sensitive  horror  of  being 
lalKag]  of  by  such  pee)  le.     Can  you  take  me?" 

"  (Jan  I  take  you,  i>stella  !' 

"  \  on  caii,  men  1  The  day  after  to-morrow,  if  you  please.  You 
are  to  pay  all  charges  out  of  my  purse.  You  hear  the  condi- 
tion of  your  going?" 

"  And  must  obey,"  said  I. 

This  was  all  the  preparation  I  received  for  that  visit,  or  for  oth- 
ers like  it  ;  Miss  Havisham  never  wrote  to  me,  nor  had  1  ever  so 
much  as  seen  her  handwriting.     We  went   down  on   the  next 
but  one,  and  we  found  her  in  the  room  where  1  first  beheld  her, 
and  it  is  needless  to  add  that  there  was  no  change  in  Satis  House. 

She  was  even  more  dreadfully  fond  of  Kstella  than  she  ha.! 
when  I  last  saw  them  together ;  1  repeat  the  word  advisedly,  for 
there  was  something  positively  dreadful  ha  the  energy  of  her  looks 
K> 


M9  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

and  embraces.  She  hung  u$on  Estella's  beauty,  hung  upon  her 
words,  hung  upon  her  gestures,  and  sat  mumbling  her  own  trem- 
bling lingers  while  she  looked  at  her  as  though  she  were  devour- 
ing the  beautiful  creature  she  had  reared. 

From  Estella  she  looked  at  me,  with  a  searching  glance  that 
seemed  to  pry  into  my  heart  and  probe  its  wounds.  "How  i 
she  use  you,  Pip — how  does  she  use  you  ?  "  lie  asked  me  again, 
wilh  her  witch-like  eagerness,  even  in  Estella's  hearing.  But  when 
at  by  her  flickering  fire  at  night  she  was  most  'weird  ;  for  then, 
keeping  Estella's  hand  drawn  through  tier  arm  and  clutched  in  her 
own  hand,  she  extorted  from  her,  by  dint  of  referring  back  to  what 
Estella  had  told  her  in  her  regular  letters,  the  names  and  the  con- 
ditions of  the  men  whom  she  had  fascinated;  ami  as  Miss  Havi- 
shain  dwelt  upon  this  roll  with  the  intensity  of  a  mind  mortally 
hurt  and  diseased,  she  sat  with  her  other  hand  on-  her  crutehed 
stick,  and  her  chin  on  that,  and  her  wan  bright  eyes  glaring  tit  me, 
:■-  very  spectre. 

!  saw  in  this,  wretched  though  it  made  me,  and  bitter  the  sense 
of  dependence  and  even  of  degradation  that  it  awaken;".! — I  saw 
in  this,  that  Estella  was  set  to  wreak  Miss  Havisham's  revenge  on 
men,  and  that  she  was  not  to  be  given  to  me  until  she  had  grati- 
fied it  for  a  term.  '  1  saw  in  this,  a  reason  for  her  being  beforehand 
assigned  to  me.  Sending  her  out  to  attract  ami  torment  and  do 
mischief,  Miss  llavisham  sent  her  with  the  malicious  assurance 
that  she  was  beyond  'he  reach  of  all  admirers,  and  that  nil  who 
staked  upon  that  cast  were  secured  to  lose.  1  saw  in  this,  thaf  I, 
too,  w;is  tofmenteVl  by  a  perversion  of  ingenuity,  gven  wbije  the 
prize  was  reserved  for  me.  1  saw  in  this, .the  reason  of  being  slaved 
g,  and  the  reason  for  my  late  gurdian's  declining  to  corn- 
lie  formal  knowledge  of  such  a  scheme.  In  a  won'., 
f  in  this,  Miss  llavisham  as  1  had  her  then  am 
my  eyes,  and  always  had  Bad  her  before  my  eyes;  and  I  saw  in 
this  the  distinct  shadow  of  the  darkened  and  unhealthy  house  in 
which  her  life  was  hidden  from  the  sun. 

The  candles  that  lighted  that  room  of  hers  were  placed  in  sconce.-, 
or,  the  wall.  They  were  high  from  the  around,  and  they  burned 
with.  illness  of  artificial  light  in  air  1  hat  is  seldom  re- 

newed. As  [  looked  round  at  them,  and  the  pale  gloom  they  made, 
•1  clock,  and  at  the  withered  articles  of  bridal 
dress  upon  the  lablcand  the  ground,  and  at  her  own  awful  figure 
with  its gho^th  reflection  thrown  large  by  thefireupon  the  ceiling  and 
wail.  I  saw  in  everything  the  construction  that  my  mind  had 
come  to  repealed  and  thrown  back  to  me.  My  thoughts  passed  in- 
to the  great  room  across  the  landing  when1. the  table  was  spread, 
and  1  saw  it  written,  as  it  were,  in  the  talis  of  the  cobwebs  from 
the  centre-piece,  in  the  crawlings  of  the  spiders  on  the  cloth,  in  the 
L/a.ck*  «f  the  mice  as  they  betook  their  little  quickened  hearts  be- 


GREAT  EXPECTATION.  «43 

hind  the  panels,  and  in  the  gropings  and  pausing*  of  the  beetles 
on  the  floor. 

It  happened  on  the  occasion  of  this  visit  that  some  sharp  words 
arose  between  Estella  and  Miss  Havisham.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  "had  ever  seen  them  opposed. 

We  were  scaled  by  the  lire  as  just  now  described,  and  Miss 
Havisham  sfilUhati  EsteJIa's  arm  drawn  through  her  own.  and  still 
elntehed  EVella's  hand  in  hers,  when  Estella  gradually  began  to 
detach  hergelf.  She  had  shown  a  proud  impatience  more  than 
once  before,  and  had  rather  endured  that  tierce  affection  than  ac- 
cepted or  returned  it. 

"  Wliat  !  "  said  Miss  llavisham,  flashing  her  eyes  upon  her,  "are 
you  tired  of  me  .'  " 

••  Only  a  little  tired  of  myself,"  replied  Estella,  disengaging  her 
arm,  and  moving  to  the  great  chimney-piece,  where  she  Stood  look- 
ing dnwn  at  the  lire. 

-peak  the  truth,  you  ingrate  !"'  cried   Miss    Havisham,  pas- 
sionately sh'iuirig',her  stick  upon  the  floor;  "you  are  tired  of  me." 

Estelja  locked  at  her  with  perfect  composure,  and  again  looked 
down  tier  graceful   figure  and  her  beautiful  face  ex- 

pressed a  s'e  f- possessed  indifference  to  the  wild  heat  of  the  other 
was  almost  cruel. 

'■  Vim  stick  and  sttirie  !"  exclaimed   Miss    Havisham.     "Yon 
]  heart !" 

"  What  !"  said  Estella,  preserving  her  attitude  of  indifference 
as  she  leaned  against  the  great  chimney-piece  and  only  moving  her 
eye:?;  "  do  you  reproach  nle  for  being  cold  .;     Von  V 
\re  you  not  ?"   was  the  tierce  retorr. 

•'  You  should  know."  said  Ksiella,  "  I  am  what  you  have  made 
me.      Take  all  the  praise,  take  all  the  blame;  take  all  the  sue, 

,■■  ayftJie  failure  :  in  short,  take  me.'' 

""*■*■' ^tf^P°'{  at  '1(Jr'  '0,,';  ;U  ner-"  C1''('^  Miss  Havisham.  bitterly. 
LoolLat  lier,  so  hard  and  I  hankless.  on  the  hearth  wilere  she  was 
Where  1  took  her  into  this  wretched  breast  when  it  was 
lir^  n  its  stabs,  and  where  I  have  lavished  years  of 

tciideru.  -s  uivon  lujr  !'" 

"  vVleast  1  was  no  part  to  the  compact,"  said  Estella,  "for  if 
I  could  walk  and  speak  when  it  was  made  it  was  as  much  as  I 
con  (1  do.  But  what  would  you  have.'  You  have  been  very 
good  to  me.  Aud  I  owe  every  thing  to  vou.  What  would  you 
have  ?" 

"  Love,"  replied  the  other. 

"  ion  have  it," 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Miss  Havisham. 

"Mother  by  adoption,"  retorted  Este  la,  never  departing  from 
the  easy  grace  of  her  attitude,  never  raising  her  voice  as  the  other 
did,  never  yielding  either  to  anger  or  tenderness — "  Mother  by 


444  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

adoption,  1  have  said  that  [  owe  every  thing  to  you.  All  I  pos- 
sess is  freely  yours.  All  that  you  have  given  me  is  at  your  com- 
mand to  have  again.  Beyond  i hat  I  have  nothing.  And  if  you 
ask  me  to  give  you  what  you  never  gave  me,  my  grati  ude  and 
duty  can  not  do  impossibilities." 

"Did  1  never  give  her  love!"  cried  Miss  Havisham,  turning 
wildly  to  me.  "'Did  I  never  give  her  a  burning  love,  inseparable 
from  jealousy  at  all  times,  and  fnmi  sharp  pain,  while  she  speaks 
thus  to  me  !     Let  her  call  me  mad,  let  her  call  me  mad  !" 

•"  Why  should  I  call  you  mad,"  returned  Estella,  "  I,  of  all 
people?  Does  any  one  live  who  knows  what  set  purposes.you 
have,  half  as  well  as  I  do?  Does  any  one  live  who  knows  what 
a  steady  memory  you  have,  half  as  well  as  I  do?  I,  who  have.sat 
on  this  same  hearth  on  the  little  stool  that  is  even  now  beside  yi>u 
there,  learning  your  lessons  and  looking  up  into  your  face,  when 
your  face  was  strange  and  frightened  to  me?" 

"  Soon  forgotten  !"  moaned  Miss  Havisham.  "  Times  soon 
forgotten  '!" 

"No,  not  forgotten,"  retorted  Estella.  "Nor  forgotten,  but 
treasured  up  in  my  memory.  When  have  you  found  me  false  to 
your  teaching  ?  When  halve  you  found  me  unmindful  of  your 
lessons?  When  have  you  found  me  giving  admission  here" — she 
touched  her  bosom  with  her  band — "to  anything  that  you  exclu- 
ded ?     iJejust  to  me." 

"  So  proud,  so  proud  !"  moaned  Miss  Havisham,  pushing  away 
her  gray  hair  with  both  her  hands.  ' 

"Who  Taught  me  lo  be  proud.'"  'returned  Estella.  "  Who 
praised  me  when  I  learned  my  lesson  ?" 

"  So  hard,  so  hard  !"  moaned  Miss  Havisham,  with  her  former 
action. 

"Who  taught  me  to  be  hard  |"  returned  Estella.  i  ;■'  Who 
praised  me  when  I  learned  my  lesson  !"  "'.'  ^|Jf  '^ 

"  But  to  be  proud  and  hard  to  >//e/"  Miss  Havisham  quite 
shrieked,  as  she  stretched  out  her  arms.  "  Estella,  Estella,  Es- 
tella, to  lie  proud  and  hard  to  we  /" 

Estella  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  a  kind  of  calm. wonder, 
but  was  not  otherwise  disturbed;  when  the  moment  was  passed 
she  looked  down  at  the  tire  again. 

"I  can  not  think,"  said  Estella,  raising  her  eyes  ifter  a  silence, 


"  why  you  should  be  so  unreasonable  when  I  come  to.  see  you  after 
a  separation.  J  have  never  Forgotten  your  wrongs  and  their  caus- 
es, i  have  never  been  unfaithful  to  you  or  your  schooling.  I 
have  never  shown  any  weakness  that  I  can  charge  myself  with." 

"Would  it  be  weakness  to  return  my  love  I"  exclaimed  Miss 
Havisham.     "  But  yes,  yes,  she  would  cad  it  so!" 

"  1  begin  to  think,"  said  Estella,  in  a  musing  way,  after  another 
momen*  of  eaJin  wonder,  "that  I  almost  understand  how  thie 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  845 

corrtes  about.  If  you  had  hrought  up  your  adopied  daughter 
wholly  in  the  dark  confinement  oi  these  rooms,  and  had  nevi  r  let 
her  know  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  ihc  daylight  by  which 
she  has  never  once  seen  your  face — if  you  had  done'  that,  and 
then,  for  a  purpose  had  wanted  her  to  understand  the  daylight, 
and  know  all  about  it,  you  would  have  been  disappointed  and 
angry  (" 

Miss  Ilavisham  with  her  head  in  her  hand:-;,  sat  making  a  low 
moaning,  and  swaying  herself  on  her  chair,  but  gave  no  answer. 

"Or,"  said  Estella — "which  is  a  nearer  case — if  you  had 
taught  her.  from  the  dawn  of  her  intelligence,  with  your  utmost 
ene/gy  and  might,  that  there  was  spe.h  a  thing  as  daylight,  but 
it  was  made  to  he  her  enemy  and  destroyer,  and  she  must, 
always  turn  against  it.  for  it  had  blighted  you  and  would  else 
blight  her:  if  you  had  done  this,  and  then,  for  a  purpose,  had 
wanted  her  to  take  nafuraly  to  the  daylight,  and  she  could  not 
do  it,  you  would  have  been  disappointed  and  angry  ?" 

Miss  Ilavisham  sat  listening  (or  it  seemed  so,  for  I  could  not 
see  her  face),  but  still  made  no  answer. 

'•  So,"  said  1'stella.  "  I  must  be  taken  as  I  have  been  made. 
The  success  is  not  mine,  the  failure  is  not  mine,  but  the  two  to- 
gether are  me*'" 

Miss  Ilavisham  had  settled  down,  I  hardly  knew  how,  upon 
the  floor,  among  the  faded  bridal  relics  with  which  it  was  strewn. 
I  took  advantage  of  the  moment — I  had  sought  one  from  the  first 
— to  leave  file  room  after  beseeching  Kstcl .a's  attention  to  her, 
with  a  movement  of  my  hand.  When  I  left,  Estella  was  yet 
standi)  g  by  the  great  chimney-piece,  just,  as  she  had  stood 
throughout.  Miss  Ilavisham's  gray  hair  was  all  adrift  upru  the 
ground,  among  the  other  bridal  wrecks,  and  was  a  miserable  sight 
10  see. 

It  was  with  a  depressed  heart  that  1  walked  in  the  starlight,  for 
an  hour  or  more,  about  the  court-yard,  and  about  the  brewery,  and 
about  the  ruined  garden.  When  1  at  last  took  courage  to  return 
to  the  room,  I  found  Estella  sitting  at  Miss  Havisham's  knee, 
taking  up  some  stitches  in  one  of  those  old  articles  of  dress  that 
were  dropping  to  pieces,  and  of  which  I  have  often  been  reminded 
since  by  the  faded  tatters  of  old  banners  that  I  have  seen  hanging 
up  in  cathedrals.  Afterward,  Kstella  and  I  played  cards,  as  of 
yore — only  we  were  skillful  now,  and  played  French  games — and 
so  the  evening  wore  away,  and  I  went  to  bed. 

I  lay  in   tl  ate  bui  ding  across  the  court-yard.     It  was 

the  first  lime  1  had  ever  lain  down  to  rest  in  Satis  House,  and 
sleep  refused  to  come  near  me.  A  million  of  Miss  llavishams 
haunted  me.  She  was  mi  this  side  of  my  pillow,  on  that,  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  at  the  foot,  behind  the  half-opened  door  of  the 
dressing-room,  in  the  dressing-room,  in  the  room  overhead,  in  the 


2if>  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

yoom  beneath — every  where.  At  last,  when  the  night  was  slow 
to  creep  on  toward  two  o'clock,  I  felt  that  I  absolutely  could  no 
lofiger  bear  the  place  as  a  place  to- lie  down  in,  and  that  I  must 
get  up.  1  "therefore  got  up  and  put  on  rhy  clothes,  and  went  out 
aero**  the  yard  into  the  long  stone  passage,  designing  to  gain  the 
outer  court-yard  and  walk  there  for  the  relief  of  my  mind.  But  I 
was  no  sooner  in  the  passage  than  I  extinguished  my  candle  ;  for 
I  saw  Miss  Havisham  going  along  it  in  a  ghostly  manner,  making 
a  low  cr\ .  1  followed  her  at,  a  distance,  and  saw  her  go  up  the 
staircase.  She  carried  a  bare  candle  in  her  hand,  which  she  had 
probably  taken  from  oue  of  the  sconces  in  her  own  room,  and  was 
a  most  unearthly  object  by  its  light.  Standing  at  the  bottom  of 
the  staircase,  I  felt :,  the  mildewed  air  of  the  feast-chamber,  without 
seeing  her  open  the  door,  and  1  heard  her  walking  there,  and  so 
across  into  her  own  room,  and  so  across  again  into  that,  never 
ceasing  the  low  cry.  After  a  time.  I  tried  in  the  dark  both  to  get 
out,  and  to  go  back,  hut  I  could  do  neither  until  some  streaks  of 
day  strayed  in  and  showed-  me  whereto  lay  my  hands.  During 
the  whole  interval,  whenever  I  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  stair- 
case, I  heard  her  footstep,  saw  her  light  pass  above,  and  head  tier 
•  ease'ess  low  cry. 

Before  we  left  next  day,  there  was  no  revival  of  Bhe  difl'ereuce 
between  her  and  Estella,  nor  was  it  ever  revived  on  any  similar  oc- 
casion ;  and  there  were  four  similar  occasions,  to  the  best  of  my  re- 
memb'rance.  Nor  did  Miss  Ilavisham's  mariner  toward  Estella  in 
anywise  change,  except  that  I  believed  it  to  have  something  like 
fear  infused  among  its  former  characteristics. 

It  is  impossible  to  turn  this  leaf  of  my  life  without  putting  Bent- 
ley  Drummle.'s  name  upon  it;  or  I  would,  very  gladly. 

I'm  a  certain  occasion  when  the  Finches  were  assembled  in  force, 
and  when  good  feeling  was  being  promoted  in  the  usual  manner 
by  nobody's  agreeing  with  anybody  else,  the  presiding  Finch  called 
the  Grove  to  order,  forasmuch  as  Mr.  Drummle  had  not  yet  toasted 
a  lady  ;  which,  according  to  the  solemn  constitution  of  the  society, 
it  was  the  brute's  turn  to  do  that  day.  I  thought  I  saw  him  lect- 
in an  ugly  way  at  me  while  the  decanters  were  going  round,  but  as 
there  was  no  love  lost  between  us,  that  might  easily  be.  What 
was  my  indignant  surprise  when'  he  called  upon  the  company  to 
pledge  him  to  "Estella!  " 

y  Estella  who  1 "  said  I, 

"  Never  you  mind,"  retorted  Drummle. 

"Estella  of  where?"  said  1.  "You  are  bound  to  say  where." 
Which  lie  was,  as  a  Finch. 

"Of  Richmond,  gentlemen,"  said  Drummle,  putting  me  out  of 
the  question,  "and  a  peerless  beauty." 

Much  he  knew  about  peerless  beauties,  a  mean,  miserable  idiot  1 
I  whispered  Herbert. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  247 

"I  know  that  lady,"  said  Herbert,  across  tlie  table,  wben  the 
toast  had  been  honored. 

"  Do  you  I  "  said   Drummle. 

"  Ami  so  do  I,"  I  added,  with  a  sfiarlet  facffe. 

"Bo  you  {  "  said   Drummle.     >■()/,,  Lord  !  " 

This  was  the  only  retort — except  glass  or  crockery — that  the 
heavy  creature  was  capahle  of  making  ;  but  I  became  as  highly 
incensed  by  it  as  if  it  had  been  barbed  with  wit.  and  I  immedi- 
ately rose  in  my  place  and  said  that  I  could  hot  but  regard  it  as 
being  like  the  honorable  Finche's  impudence  to  come  down  to  that 
Grove,  as  a  neat  parliamentary  turn  of  expression — down  to  that 
Grove  proposing  a  lady  of  whom  he  knew  notbing.  Mr.  Drummle 
upon  t his,  starting  up,  demanded  what  I  meant  by  that?  Where- 
upon I  made  him  the  extreme  reply  that  I  believed  he  knew  whore 
1  was  to  be  found. 

Whether  it  was  possible  in  a  Christian  country  to  get  on  with 
blood,  after  this,  was  a  question  on  which  the  Finches  were  divid- 
ed. Thr  debate  upon  it  grew  so  lively  indeed,  that  at  least  six- 
more  honorable  members  told  six  more,' during  the  discussion,  that 
iliey  believed  'they  infew  where  they  were  to  &e  found.  However, 
it  was  deeided  at  last,  (the  (irove.  being  a  Court  of  Honor),  that  if 
Mr.  Drummle  would  bring  never  so  slight  a  certificate  from  the  la- 
dy, importing  that  he  had  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance,  Mr.  Pip 
must  express  his  regret,  as  a  gentleman  and  a  Fincb,  for  "  having 
been  betrayed  into  a  warmth  which."  Next  day  was  appointed 
for  the  production  (lest  our  honor  Should  lake  cold  from  delay), 
and  next  day  Drummle  appeared  with  a  polite  little  avowal  in  Es- 
tella's  hand,  that  she  had  had  the  honor  of  dancing  with  him  sev- 
eral times.  '[  uis  left  me  no  course  but  to  regret  that  I  had 
"  been  betrayed  into  a  warmth  which,"  and  on  the  whole  to  repu- 
diate, as  untenable,  the  idea  that  I  was  to  be  found  anywhere. — 
Drummle  and  I  then  sat  snorting  at  one  another  for  an  hour,  while 
(he  (J rove  engaged  in  indiscriminate  contradiction,  and  finally  the 
promotion  of  good  feeding  was  declared  to  have  gone  ahead  at  an 
amazing  rate. 

I  tell  this  lightly,  but  it  was  no  light  thing  to  me.  For  I  can- 
not adequately  express  what  pain  it  gave  me  to  think  that  Fstella 
should  show  any  lavor  to  a  contemptible,  clumsy,  sulky  booby!  so 
far  below  the  average.  To  the  present  moment,  i  believe  it 
to  have  been  referable  to  some  pure  tire  of  generosity  and  disinter 
estednesa  in  my  love  for  her  that  I  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  her  stooping  to  ill  at  hound.  Xo  doubt  I  should  have  been  mis- 
erable whomsoever  she  had  favored;  but  a  worthier  object  would 
have  caused  me  a  different  kind  and  degree  of  distress. 

It  was  easy  for  me  to  find  out,  and  1  did  soon  find  out,  that 
Drummle  had  begun  to  follow  her  closely,  and  that  she  allowed 
him  to  do  it.     A  littlu  while,  and  ha  was  always  in  pursuit  of  her, 


24S  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  be  and  I  crossed  one  another  every  day.  He,  held  on,  in  a 
dull  persistent  way,  and  Estella  held  him  on  ;  now  with  encour- 
agement, now  with  discouragement,  now  almost  flattering  him,  now 
openly  despising  him,  now  knowing  him  very  well,  now  scarcely 
remembering  who  he  was. 

The  Spider,  as  Mr.  Jaggers  had  called  him,  was  vised  to  lying 
in  wait,  however,  and  had  the  patience  of  his  tribe.  Added  to 
that,  he  had  a  blockhead  confidence  in  his  money  and  in  his  family 
greatness,  which  sometimes  did  him  good  service — a1  most  taking 
the  place  of  concentration  and  determined  purpose.  So  the  Spider, 
doggedly  watching  Estella,  outwatehed  many  brighter  insects,  and 
would  often  uncoil  himself  and  drop  at  the  right  nick  of  time. 

At  a  certain  Assembly  Ball  at  Eichmond  (there  used  to  be  As- 
sembly Balls  at  some  places  then),  where  Estella  had  outshone  all' 
other  beauties,  this  blundering  Drummle  so  hung  about  her,  and 
with  so  much  toleration  on  her  part,  that  I  resolved  to  speak  to  her 
concerning  hiin.  1  took  the  next  opportunity:  which  was  when  she 
was  waiting  for  Mrs.  Brandley  to  take  her  home,  and  was  sitting 
apart  among  some  flowers,  ready  to  go.  \  was  with  her,  for  I  al- 
most always  accompanied  them  to  and  from  such  places. 

"Are. you  tired,  Estella?" 

"  Rather,  Pip."  '  % 

"  You  should  be," 

"  Say  rather,  I  should  not  be  ;  for  1  have  my  fetter  to  Satis 
House  to  write  before  I  go  to  sleep." 

"Recounting  to-night's  triumph  I  "  said  I.  "  Surely  it's  a  very 
poor  one,  Estella." 

"  What  do  you  mean  if     I  didn't  know  there  bad  been  any." 

"Estella,"  said  I,  "  do  look  at  that  fellow  in  the  corner  yonder, 
who  is  looking  over  here  at  us." 

"  Why  should  I  look  at  him  ?  "  returned  Estella,  with  her  eyes 
on  me  instead.  "  What  is  there  in  that  fellow  in  the  corner  yon- 
der— to  use  your  words — that  I  need  look  at  ?" 

"Indeed,  that  is  the  very  question  I  want  to  ask  you,"  said  I. 
"  For  he  has  been  hovering  about  you  all  night," 

"  Moths,  and  all  sorts  of  ugly  creatures,"  replied  Estella,  with 
a  glance  toward  him,  "  hover  about  a  lighted  candle.  Can  the  can- 
dle help  it  ?" 

"  No,"  1  returned  ;  "  but  cannot  the  Estella  help  it  I  " 

"  Well !  "  said  she,  laughing,  after  a  moment,  "  perhaps.  Yes. 
Anything  you  like." 

"Bui,  Estella,  do  hear  me  speak.  It  makes  me  wretched  that 
you  should  encourage  a  man  so  generally  despised.  You  know  that 
he  is  despised." 

"  Well'?"  said  she. 

"  You  know  that  he  is  as  ungainly  within  as  without.  A  defi- 
cient, ill-tempered,  lowering,  stupid  fallow." 


GREAT  EXPECTATION.  249 

"Well  ?•'  said  she. 

"You  know  thai  he  has  nothing  to  recommend  him  hut  money, 
and    a   ridiculous   roll    of  addld-headed    predecessors ;   now    don't 

VOU   :'• 

"  WelJ  V  said  slip  again  ;  and  each  time  she  said  it.  she  opened 
her  lovely  eyes  the  wider. 

To  overcome  the  difficulty  of  getting  past  that  monosyllable,  I 
took  it,  from  her,  and  said,  repealing  it,  with  emphasis,  "  Well! — 
Then,  that  is  why  it  makes  me  wretched." 

N<iw  if  I  could  have  believed  that  she  favore  1  Pruinmle  with 
any  idea  of  making  me — me — wretched,  1  should  have  been  in 
better  heart  about  it ;  hut  in  that  habitual  way  of  hers,  she  put  me 
so  entirely  out  of  the*  question  that  1  cuuld  believe  nothing  of  the 
kind. 

"l'ip,"said  Estelja,  casting  her  glance  over  the  room,  "  don't 
be  foolish  about  its  effects  on  you.  It  may  have  its  effect  on  oth- 
ers, and  may  be  meant  to  have.     It's  not  worth  discussing." 

"  Yes  it  is,"  said  1.  "  because  I  cannot  bear  that  people  should 
say,  'she  throws  away  her  graces  and  attractions  on  a  mere  boor, 
the  lowest  in  Ihe  crowd.'  " 

"  I  can  bear  it."  said  Estell, 

"  <  )h  !   don't  be  so  proud,  Estella,'  and  so  inrl  >xible." 

"Calls  me  proud  and  inflexible  in  this  breath!"  said  Estella, 
opening  her  hands.  "And  in  his  last,  breath  reproached  me  for 
stooping  to  a  boor  !" 

"  There  is  no  doubt  you  do,"  said  1,  something  hurriedly.  "  for 
I  have  seen  you  give  him  looks  and  smiles  this  very  night  sue 
you  never  give  to — me." 

"  Do  you  want  me.  then,''  said  Estella,  turning  sudden  y  with 
a  fixed  and  serious,  if  not  angry  look,  "to  deceive  and  entrap 
you." 

"  Do  you  deceive  and  entrap  him,  Estella?" 

"Yes,  and  many  others — all  of  them  but  you.     Here  is 
Brandley.     I'll  say  no  more." 

And  now  that  I  have  giver:  the  one  chapter  to  ihe  theme  that  so 
tilled  my  heart,  and  so  often  made  it  ache  and  ache  again,  1  pass 
on  unhindered,  to  the  event  that  had  impended  over  me  longer 
yet  ;  the  event  that  had  begun  to  he  prepared  for.  before  1  knew 
that  the  world  held  Estella, and  in  the  days  when  her  baby  intelli- 
gence was  receiving  its  first  distortions  from  Miss  Iiavisham's 
wasting  hands. 

In  the  Eastern  story,  the  heavy  slab  that  was  to  fall  on  the  bed 
of  state  in  the  Hush  of  eompiest  was  slowly  wrought  out  of  the 
quarry,  the  tunnel  for  the  rope  to  hold  il  in  its  place  was  slowlj 
carried  through  the  leagues  of  rock,  the  slab  was  slowly  raised  and 
tilted  iu  ihe  roof,  the  rope  was  rova  to  it  and  slowly  taken  through 


250  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  miles  of  hollow  to  the  great  iron  ring.  All  being  made  ready 
-with  nmeh  labor,  and  the  hour  come,  the  sultan  was  aroused  in  the 
dead  of  the  night,  and  the  sharpened  axe  that  was  to  sever  the 
rope  from  the  great  iron  ring  'was  put  into  his  hand,  and  he  struck 
with  it,  and  Ihe  rope  parted  and  rushed  away,  and  the  ceiling  fell. 
So,  in  my  case  ;  all  the  work,  near  and  afar,  that  tended  to  the 
end,  had  been  accomplished  :  and  in  an  instant  the  blow  was  struck, 
and  the  roof  of  my  stronghold  dropped  upon  me. 


CHAPTER   XXX IX. 

I  was  three-and-twenty  years  of  age.  Xot,  another  word  had  [ 
heard  to  enlighten  me  on  the  subject  of  my  expectations,  and  ray 
twenty-third  birthday  was  a  week  gone.  We  had  left  Barnard's 
Inn  more  than  a  year,  and  lived  in  the  Temple.  Our  chambers 
were  in  Garden  Court,  down  by  the  river. 

Mr.  Pocket  and  I  had  for  some  time  parted  company  as  to  pur 
original  relations,  though  we  continued  on  the  besl  of  terms.  Not- 
withstanding my  inability  to  settle  any  thing — which  I  hope  arose 
out  of  the  restless  and  incomplete  tenure  on  which  I  held  my  means 
— I  had  a  taste  for  reading,  and  read  regularly  so  many  hours  a 
day.  That  matter  of  Herbert's  was  si  ill  progressing,  and  every 
thing  with  me  was  as  I  have  brought  it  down  to  the  close  of  the 
last  chapter. 

Business  had  taken  Herbert  on  a  journey  to  Marseilles.  I  was 
alone,  and  had  a  dull  sense  of  being  alone.  Inspirited  and  anxious, 
long  hoping  that  to-morrow:  or  next  week  would  clear  my  way,  und 
long  disappointed,  I  sadly  missed  the  cheerful  face  and  ready  re- 
sponse of  my  friend. 

It  was  wretched  weather;  stormy  and  wet,  stormy  and  wet; 
and  mud,  mud,  mud,  deep  in  all  the  streets.  Day  after  day  a  vast 
heavy  vail  had  been  driving  over  London  from  the  East,  and  it 
drove  still,  as  if  in  the  East  there  were  an  Eternity  of  cloud  and 
wind.  So  furious  had  been  the  gusts  that  high  buildings  in  town 
had  had  the  lead  stripped  off  their  roofs;  and  in  the  country,  trees 
had  been  tmn  up,  and  sails  of  wind-mills  carried  away  ;  and  gloo- 
my accounts  had  come  in  from  the  coast  of  shipwreck  and  death. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  951 

Violent  blasts  of  ruin  had  accompanied  these  rages  of  wind,  and 
the  day  just  elosVd  as  I  sat  down  to  read  bad  Wen  the  worst  of 
all. 

Alterations  have  been  made  in  thai  nart*df  th^Temple  since 
that  lime,  and  il  has  not  now  so  lonely  a  character  as  il  had  Mien, 
nor  is  it  SO  exposed  to  the  river.  We  lived  at  the  top  of  the  last 
house,  and  the  wind  rushing  up  the  river  Mmok  the  In  use  that 
night  like  discharg  s  of  cannon  or  breaking  of  a  sea.  When  the 
rain  came  with  it  and  dashed  against  the  windows,  I  thought, 
raising  my  eyes  to  them  as  they  rocked,  that  I  might  have  fancied 
myself  in  a  siorm-heaten  light-house.  Occasionally  the  smoke 
came  rolling  down  the  chimney  as  though  it  could  not  heart' 
out  into  such  a  night  ;  and  when  I  set  the  doors  open  and  looked 
down  the  staircase  ;  the  staircase  lamps  were  blown  out  ;  and 
when  I  shaded  my  face  with  my  hands  and  looked  through  the 
black  windows  (opening  them  ever  su  little  was  out  of  the  question 
in  the  teeth  of  such  wind  and  rain),  I  saw  that  the  lamps  in  the 
court  were  blown  out,' and  t hat  the  lamps  on  the  bridges  and  the 
shore  were  shuddering,  and  that  the  coal  fires  in  barges  on  the 
river  were  being  canied  away  before  the  wind  like  red-hot  splashes 
in  the  rain. 

1  read  with  my  watch  upon  the  table,  purposing  to  close  my 
book  at'  eleven  o'clock.  As  I  shut  it.  Saint  Paul's,  and  all  the 
j  church-clocks  in  the  City — some  leading,  some  accompany- 
ing, seme  following*— struck,  that  hour.  The  sound  was  curiously 
flawed  by  the  wind  ;  and  I  was  listening,  and  thin  long  how  the 
wind  assailed  it,  and  tore  it.  when   1   heard  a  footstep  on  the  stair. 

What  nervous  folly  made  me  start,  and  awfully  connect  it  with 
the  footstep  of  my  dead  sisler,  matters  not.  It  was  past  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  i  listened  again,  and  heard  the  footstep  stumble  in  com- 
ing on.  lumembering  then  that  the  staircase-lights  were  blown 
out.  T  took  up  my  reading-lamp  ami  went  out  to  the  stair-bead. 
Whoever  was  below  had  sto*  ped  on  seeing  my  lamp,  for  all  was 
quiet. 

"There  is  some  one  down,  there,  is  there  not  V  I  called  out, 
looking  down. 

"  Yes,"  said  a  voice  from  the  darkness  beneath. 

"  What  floor  do  you  want  ?" 

■•  The  top.     Mr.  Pip," 

"That  is  my  name.     There  is  nothing  the  matter?" 

"Nothing  the  matter."  returned  the  voice.  And  the.  man  came 
on. 

1  stood  with  my  lamp  held  out  over  the  stair-rail,  and  he  slowly 
came  within  its  light.  It  was  a  shaded  lamp,  to  shine  upon  a 
book,  and  ils  circle  of  light  was  very  contracted  ;  so  thai  he  was 
in  it  for  a  men*  instant,  and  then  out  of  ii.      in  the  instant,  1  Lad 


•252  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

seen  a  face  that  was  strange  to  me,  looking  up  with  an  incompre- 
hensible air  or  nMhg  touched  and  pleased  rVy  the  sight  of  tile. 

Moving  the  famp  as  th  man  moved,  I  made  out  that  he  was 
substantially  dressed,  but  roughly  :  like  a  voyager  by  sea.  That 
he  had  burg,  iron-gray  hair.  That  his  age  was  about  sixty.  That 
he  was  a  muscular  man,  strong  on  his  legs,  and  that  he  was  brown- 
ed and  hardened  by  exposure  to  weather.  As  he  ascended  the  last 
stair  or  two,  and  the  -light  of  my  lamp  included  us  both,  f  saw, 
with  a  stupid  kind  of  amazement,  that  he  was  holding  both  his 
hands  to  me. 

"  Pray  what  is  your  business?"  I  asked  him. 

"My  business?"  he  repeated,  pausing.  "Ah!  Yes.  I  will 
explain  my  business  by  your  leave." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  come  in  ?" 
"  "  Yes,"  he  replied  ;.  "  I  wish 'to  come  in,  Master." 

I  had  asked  him  the  question  inhospitably  enough,  for  T  resent- 
ed the  sort  of  bright  and  gratified  recognition  that  still  shone  on 
his  face.  I  resented  il,4iecause  it  seemed  to- imply  that  he  ex- 
pected me  to  respond  to  it.  But  I  took  him  into  the  room  I  had 
just  left,  and,  having  set  the  lamp  on  the  table,  asked  him  as  civil- 
ly asT  could  to  explain  himself. 

He  looked  about  him  with  the  strangest  air — an  air  of  wonder- 
ing pleasure,  as  if  he  had  some  part  in  the  things  he  admired — and 
he  pulled  off  a  rough  outer  coat,  and  his  hat.  Then  I  saw  that  his 
head  was  furrowed  and  bald,  and  that  the  rong,^rqn-gra^  hair  grew 
only  on  its  sides.  But  I  saw  nothing  that  in  the  least  explained 
him.  ( >n  the  contrary,  I -saw  him  next  moment  once  more  holding 
out  both  his  hands  to  me. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  I,  half  suspecting  him  to  be  mad. 

He  stopped  in  his  looking  at  me,  and  slowly  rubbed  his  right 
hand  over  his  head.  "  It's  disapiniing  to  a  man,"  he  said,  in  a 
coarse,  broken  voice,  "  arter  having  looked  forward  so  distant  and 
"omesofur;  but  you're  not  to  blame,  for  that — neither  on  us  is 
to  blame  for  that.  I'll. speak  in  half  a  minute. .  Give  hie  half  a 
minute   please." 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  that  stood 'before  the  fire,  and  covered 
ins  forehead  with  his  large  brown  veinous  hands.  I  looked  at  him 
attentively  then,  and  recoiled  a  little  from  him ;  but  I  did  not 
know  him. 

"There's  no  one  nigh,"  said  he,  looking  over  his  shoulder;  "  is 
there  ? " 

"Why  do  you,  a  stranger  coming  into  my  room  at  this  time  of 
the  night,  ask  that  question  ?  "  said  I. 

"  You're  a  game  one,"  he  returned,  shaking  his  head  at  me  with 
a  deliberate  affection,  at  once  most  unintelligible  and  most  exas- 
perating; "  I'm  glad  you've  grow'd  up  a  game  one  !  But  don't 
catch  hold  of  me.     You'd  be  sorry  arterward  to  have  done  it." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  25:? 

I  relinquished  the  intention  he  had  detected,  for  1  knew  him  ! — 
Even  yet,  1  could  not  recall  a  single  fealure,  bill  I  knew  him  !  If 
the  wind  and  the  rain  had  driven  away  the  intervening  years,  had 
scattered  all  the  intervening  objects,  had  swept  ns  to  the  church- 
ward where  we  tirst  stood  face  to  face  on  such  different  levels,  1 
could  noi  have  known  my  convict  more  distinctly  than  1  knew  him 
now,  as  he  sal  in  the  chair  hefore  the  tire.  No  need  to  take  a  tile 
from  his  pocket  and  show  it  to  me  ;  no  need  to  take  the  handker- 
chief from  his  neck  ami  twist,  it  round  his  head;  no  need  to  hug 
himself  with  both  his  arms,  and  take  a  shivering  turn  across  the 
room,  looking  hack  at  me. for  recognition.  1  knew  him  hefore  he 
gave  nie  one  of  those  aids,  though,  a  intmteiit  before,  1  bad  not 
been  conscious  of  remotely  suspecting  his  identity. 

He  came  back  to  where  1  stood,  and  again  held  out  both  his 
hands.  'Not  knowing  what  to  do — for  in  my  astonishment  1  had 
lost  my  self-possession — I  reluctantly  pave  him  mv  bands,  lie 
grasped  them  heart ily,  raised  them  to  bis  lips,  kissfcd  them,  and  still 
held  them. 

-You  acted  noble,  my  boy,"  said  be.  "Noble,  Tip!  And  I 
have  never  forgot  it." 

At  a  change  in  bis  manner  as  if  be  were  even  going  to  embrace 
me.  1    laid  a  hand  upOD  ids  breast  and  -put  bint  away. 

"  Stay  !"  said  1.  "Keep.off'j  1  f  \.<<i  are  grateful  to  me  for 
1  did  when  I  was  a  little  child'.  1  bop*  \ on  Rave  shown  your 
gratitude  by  mending  your  way  of  life.  If  you  have  come  here 
to  thank  me,  it  was  nol  necessary.  Still,  howev.er,  you  have  found 
me  out.  there  must  be  something  good  in  the  fe.  ling  that  has 
brought  you  hew,  and  I  will  not  repulse  you;  but  surely  you  must 
understand   that  —  1 — " 

>iy  attention  was   so  attracted   by    the   singularity    of  I 
at  me,  that  the  words  died  away  on  my  tongue. 

"  You  was  a,  saying,"  he  observed,  when  we   bad  confronted  one 
another  in  silence,  "that  surely  1    must  understand.     What  surely 
i  tin  'T.siand  '." 

i  hat  1  cannot  wish  to  renew  that  chance  intercourse  with  you 
of  long  ago.  under  t  ese  different  circumstances.  I  am  glad'  to 
\e  \ou  have  repented  and  recovered  yourself,  i  am  glad  to 
tell  \ ou  so.  1  am  glad  that,  t binking  I  deserved  to  be  thanked, 
\  ou  have  come  to  I  bank  me.  But  our  ways  are  different  ways,  none 
the  less.  You  are  wet,  and  you  look  weary.  Will  you  drink 
thing  before  you  go  1  " 

lie  had  replaced  his  neckerchief  loosely,  and   had  stood,  keenly 
observant  of  me,  biting  a  bug  emlof.it.     "  1  tbink,''  he  answi 
still  with  the  end  at  his  mouth  and  still  observant  of  me,  "that    1 
will  drink  (1  thank  you)  afore  1  go." 

There  was  a  tray  ready  on  a  side-table.  I  brought  it  to  the  ta- 
hwiwm  the  tint,  and  auked  him  what  lm  would  have  I    He  touch- 


•j  54  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ed  one  of  the  buttles  without  looking  at  it  or  speaking,  and  I  made 
him  some  hot  rum-aud-water.  I  tried  to  keep  my  hand  steady 
while  I  did  so,  but  his  look  at  me  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
with  the  long  draggled  end  of  his  neckerchief  between  his  teeth— 
evidently  forgotten — made  my  hand  very  difficult  to  master.  "When. 
at  hist  I  put  the  glass  to  him,  I  saw  with  new  amazement  that  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

lip  to  this  time  I  had  remained  standing,  not  to  disguise  that  I 
wished  him  gone.  But.I  was  softened  by  the  softened  aspect  of 
the  man,  and  'felt  a  touch  of  reproach.  "I  hope,"  said  I,- hur- 
riedly'putting  something  into  a  glass  for  myself,  and  drawing  a 
chair  to  the  table.  "  that  you  will  not  think  I  spoke  harshly  to  you 
just  now.  I  had  no  intention  of  doing  it,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it 
if  1  did.     I  wish  you  well  and  happy  !" 

•  As  (  put  my  glass  to  my  lips  he  glanced  with  surprise  at  the 
cud  of  his  neckerchief,  dropping  from  his  month  when  he  opened 
:;.  and  stretched  out  his  hand.  I  gave  him  mine,  and  then  he  drank, 
and  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes  and  forehead.  ■ 

"  How  are  you  living  (  "  I  ased  him. 

,"  I've  been  a  sheep-farmer,  stockbreeder,  other  trades  besides, 
away  in  the  new  world,"  said  he;  ','  many  a  thousand  miles  of 
stormy  water  oil  from  this." 

"  1    hope  you   have  done  well  .'  " 

"  I've  done  wonderful  well.  There's  others  went  out  alongerme 
as  has  done  well  too,  but  no  mau  has  done  nigh  as  well  as  me. — 
I'm  famous  for  it.' 

'•  I  am  glad,  to  hear  it." 

"  i  hope  to  hear  you  say  so,  my  dear  boy." 

Without  stopping  to  try  to  understand  those  words  or  the  tone 
in  which  they  were  spoken.  1  turned  tiff  to  a  .'point  that  had  just 
come  into  my  mind. 

•'  Have  you  eve-  seen  a  messenger  you  once  sent  to  me,"  I  in- 
quired, since  he  undertook  that  trust  V 

"  Never  set  eyes  upon  him.     I  wasn't  likely  to  it." 

"  He  came  faithfully,  and  he  brought  me  the  two  one-pound 
notes.  1  was  a  poor  hoy  then,  as  you  know,  and  to  a  poor  boy  they 
were  a  little  fortune.  But,  like  you,  I  have  done  well  since,  and 
you  must  let  me  pay  them  hack.  You  can  put  them  to  some  other 
poor  boy's  use."     1  took  out  my  purse. 

He  watched  me  as  I  laid  my  purse  upon  the  table  and  opened 
it,  and  he  watched  me  as  I  separated  two  one  pound  notes  from 
its  contents.  They  were  clean  and  new,  and  I  spread  them  out 
and  handed  them  over  to  him.  Still  watching  me,  he  laid  them 
one  upon  the  other,  folded  them  long-wise,  gave  them  a  twist,  set 
fire  to  them  at  the  lamp,  and  dropped   the   ashes   into  the  tray. 

"  May  1  make  so  bold,"  he  said  then,  with  a  smile  that  was  like 
a  irowa.  and  with  a  frown  that  was  like  a  smile,  "as  ask  you  how 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  255 

you  have  dime  well,  since  you  and  me  were  out  on  them  lone  shiv- 
ering marshes  ]" 

»Howr 

"  Ah  !" 

lie  emptied  his  glass,  got  up.  and  stood  at  the  side  ol  the  fire, 
with  his  heavy  hrowu  hand  on  the  mantle-shelf,  lie  put  a  foot  up 
To  the  bars  to  dry  and  warm  it,  and  the  v, el  boot  began  to  steam  ; 
but  he  neither  locked  at  it,  nor  at  the  lire',  but  steadily  looked  a, 
me.     It  was  only  now  that  1   began  to  treii; 

When  my  lips  had  parted,  and  had  shaped  some  words  that 
were  without  sound.  I  forced  myself  to  tell  him  (though  I  could 
not  do  it  ■  distiiietly).  that  1  had  J  teen  chosen  to  succeed  to  some 
properly. 

••  flight  a  mere  warmint  ask  what  property  i"  said   lie. 

I    faltered,  "  1  don't  klmv." 

"  Mighi  a  mere  warmini  ask  whose  property  I"  said  he. 

J    falteied. again,  "  1  don't  know." 

".Could  1  make  a  guess,  1  wonder,"  .said  the  convict,  "  at  your 
income  since  \ or,  oi  I     As  to  the  lirsl  tigure  now.    Five?" 

With  my  heart  healing  like  a  heavy  hammer  of  discorded  ac- 
tion, I  n..-  my  chair,  and  shod  with  my  hand  upon  the 
the-  back  of  it,  looking  wildly  at  him. 

"  VJohcernii  g  ;>  guardian."  he  went  on.  "  There  ought  io  have 
been  some  guar,  un,  or  such-like,  while  yon  was  a  minor  Some 
lawver,  ma-' be.  As  to  the  first  lctjer  of  that  lawyer's  name  now. 
Wi.ti.ld  it  be  J  .'" 

All  the  truth  of  my  position  came  Hashing  on  me;  and  iis  dis- 
appointments, dangers,  disgraces,  consequences  of  all  kinds,  rushed 
in  in  such  a  multitude  that    1  was  borne  down  by  them,  and  had 
niggle  for  every  breaih  I  drew. 

'•  Put  it,"  he  resumed,  "as  the  employer  of  that  lawyer  whose 
name  begun  with  a  .1.  and  might  be  daggers — put  it  as  he  had 
come  over  the  sea  to  Portsmouth,  and  had  landed  there,  audi  had 
wanted  to  come  on  to  you.  '  However,  you  have  found  me  out,'  you 
says  just  now.  Well!  However  did  I  find  you  ouj  .'  Why,  I 
wrote  from  Portsmouth  to  a  person  in  London,  for  particulars  <f 
your  address.     That   person's  name  /     Why,  WemmiekJs." 

I  ccidd  not  have  spoken  one  word  though  il  had  been  to  save 
ur\  life.  1  stood,  with  a  hand  on  therhair  back  and  a  hand  on  my 
breast,  where  I  seemed  to  he  suffocating — 1  stood  so,  looking  wild- 
ly at  him,  until  1  grasped  at  the  chair,  when  the  loom  began  to 
surge  and  turn.  He  caught  me.  drew  me  to  the  sofa,  put  me  up 
against,  the  cushions,  and  belli  on  one  knee  before  me  :  bringing, 
the  face  that  I  now  well  remembered,  and  that  1  shujcUleiei 
ver\   neai'  to   mine. 

"  Yes,  Pip,  dear  hoy.  I've  made  a  gentleman  on  you  !  It's  me 
wwi  has  dotuj  itl     1  iwore  that  time,  sure  as  ever  1  earned  a  guru- 


256  '  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ea,  Ihat  guinea  should  go  to  you.  I  swore  arterward,  sure  as  ever 
I  speculated  and  got  rich,  you  should  get  rich.  I  lived  rough  that 
you  should  live  smooth  ;  I  worked  hard  that  you  should  he  above 
work.  What  odds,  dear  hoy  ?  Do  I  fell  it  fur  you  to  feel  a  obli- 
gation ?  Not  a  bit.  I  tell  it  fur  you  to  know  as  that  there  hunted 
dunghill  ddg.what  you  kep  life  in  got.  his  head  so  high  that  he  could 
make  a  gentleman — and,  Pip,  you're  him  !" 

The  abhorrence  in  which  I  held  the  man,  the  dread  I  had  of  him, 
the  repugnance  with  which  I  shrank  from  him,  could  not  have 
been  exeee<ied  if  he  had  been  some  terrible  beast. 

•'  Li  ok'ee  here.  Pip.  I'm  your  second  father.  You're  my  son — 
more  to  me  nor  any  son.  I've  put  away  money,  only  for  you  to 
spend.  When  1  was  a  hired-out  shepherd  in  a  solitary  hut,  not 
seeing  no  faces  but  faces  of  sheep  till  1  half  forgot  wot  men's  and 
women's  faces  wos  like,  I  see  yourn.'  I  drops  my  knife  many  a 
time  in  that  hut  when  I  was  a  eating  my  dinner  or  my  supper,  and 
says,  '  Here's  the  boy  again,  a  looking  at  me  whiles  I  eats  and 
drinks!'  1  see  you  there,  a  many  limes,  as  plain  as  ever  1  see 
you  on  them  misty  marshes.  'Lord  strike  me  dead  !'  I  says  each 
time — and  I  goes  out  in  the  air  to  say  it  under  the  open  heavens — 
•bul  wot,  if  I  gets  liberty  and  money,  I'll  make  that  boy  a  gentle- 
man!' And  1  dyne  it.  Why,  look  at  you,  dear  boy!  Look  at 
these  here  lodgings  o'  yourn,  fit  for  a  lord  !  A  lord  i  Aij  !  Ton 
shall  show  money  with  lords  j#r  wagers,  and  beat  'em  !" 

in  bis  heat  and  triumph,  arj|  in  his  knowledge  that  i  had  been 
nearly  fainting,  lie  did  not  rehifrk  on  my  reception  Of  all  this.  It 
was  the  one  grain  of  relief  1  had. 

••  Look'ee  here!"  he  went  oft.  taking  oui  my  watch,  and  turn- 
ing toward  him  a  /ing  on  my  linger,  while  1  recoiled  from  his 
touch  as  if  he  had  been  a  snake.  "  a  gold  '  ill  and  a  beauty  ;  that?* 
a  gentleman's!  A  diamond,  all  set  round  with  rubies;  that' a  a 
gentleman's!  Look,  at  your  linen  ;  fine  and  beautiful!  Look  at 
your  clothes:  better  ain't  to  be  got!  And  your  books,  too,' 
turning  bis  eves  round  the  room,  ".moulding  up,  on"  their  shelves. 
by  hundreds!  And  you  read  'em  ;  don't  you?  I  see  you'd  been 
a  reading  of  'em  whin  I  come  in.  lia.  ha,  ha  !  You  shall  read 
'em  to  me,  dear  boy  !  And  if  they're  in  foreign  languages  wot  I 
don't  understand,  I  shall  lie  just  as  proud  as  if  I  did." 

Again  he  took  both  my-  hands  and  put  them  to  his  lips,  while 
my  blood  ran  cold  within  me. 

"Don't  you  mind  talking,  Pip,''  said  he,  after  again  drawing  his 
sleeve  over  bis  eyes  and  forehead,  as  the  (dick  came  in  his  throat 
*which  1  well  remembered — and  he  was  all  the  more  horrible  to 
me  that  he  was  so  much  in  earnest  f  "  you  cau'l  do  better  nof  keep 
quiet,  dear  boy.  You  ain't  looked  slowly  forward  to  this  as  I 
have  ;  you  wosn't  prepared  fur  this,  as  1  wos.  But  didn't  you 
never  think  it  might  be  me  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  857 

,     '.*  Oh  no,  no,  no,"  I  returned      "  Ncnvr,  never !" 

"  Well;  you  see  il  wes  me,  and  single-handed.  Never  a  soul  in 
it,  but  my  own  self  and  Mr.  Jaggers." 

"  Was  there  no  one  else  V   1  asked. 

"No,"  said  he,  with  a  glance  of  surprise;  •' who  else  should 
there  be?  And,  dear  boy,  how  good-looking  you  have  growed  ! 
There's  bright  eyes  somewherea — eh?  Isn't  there  bright  eyes 
somewheres,  wot  yon  love  the  thoughts- on V 

Oh  Estella,  Est'el  a! 

"They  shall  be  yourn,  dear  boy,  if  money  can  buy  'era.  Not 
that  a  gentleman  like  you,  so  well  set  up  as  you,  can't  win  'em  off 
of  his  own  game  ;  but  money  shall  back  you  !  Let  me  finish  wot 
I  was  a  telling  you,  dear  boy.  From  that  there  hut  and  that  there 
hiring  out,  1  got  my  liberty  and  went  for  myself.  In  every  single 
thing  1  went  for.  1  wen!  for  you.  '  Lord  strike  a  blight  upon  it,' 
I  says,  wotever  it  was  I  went  for  '  if  it  ain't  for  him  !'  It  all  pros- 
pered wonderful.  As  I  giV  you  to  understand  just  now,  I'm  fa- 
mous for  it.  It  was  the  gains  of  the  first  few  year  wol  I  sent 
home  to  Mr.  Jaggers — all  for  you — when  he  first  come  arteryou, 
agreeable  to  my  letter." 

Oh  that  he  had  never  come!  That  be  bad  left  me  at  the  forge 
— far  from  Contented,  yet,  by  comparison,  happy  ! 

•  "And  then,  dear  hoy.  it  was  a  recompense  to  me,  look'ee  here, 
to  know  in  secret  that  I   was  making  a  gentleman.     The  blood- 
horses  of  them  colonists  might  fling  up  the  dust  over  me  as  I  was 
walking;  what  do  I  pay  '.     1  say  to  myself,  f  I'm  making  a'  better  ■ 
gentleman  nor  ever  you'll  be  !'     When  one  of  'em  says  to  another, 

•  He  was  a  convict,  a  few  years  ago,  and  is  a  ignorant,  common 
fellow  now,  lor  all  he's  lucky,'  what  do  I  say?  I  says  to  my- 
self, '  If  I  ain't  a  gentleman,  nor  yet  ain't  got  no  learning.  I'm  the 
owner  of  such.  All  on  you  owns  stock  and  land;  which  of  you 
owns  a  brought-up  London  gentleman  V  This  way  I  kep1  myself 
a  going.  And  this  way  I  held  steady  afore  my  mind  that  I  would 
for  certain  come  one,  day  and  see  my  boy,  and  make  myself  known 
to  him.  on  his  own  ground." 

He  laid  bis 'hand  on  my  shoulder.  I  shuddered  at.  the  thought. 
thai  for  any  thing  I  knew  it  might  be  stained  with  blood. 

'•  It  warn  i  easy,  Pip,  for  me  to  leave  them  parts,  nor  yet  it 
warn't  safe.  But  I  held  to  it,  and  the  harder  it  was  the  stronger 
I  held,  for  I  was  determined,  and  my  mind  firm  made  up.  At 
last  1  done  it.     Dear  hoy,  I  done  it  !"      9 

I  tr.ed.to  collect  my  thoughts,  but  I  was  stunned.  Throughout, 
I  had  seemed  to  myself  to  attend  more  to  the  wind  and  rain  than 
to  him;  even  now,  I  could  not  separate  his  voice  from  those 
viiC'S,  though  ihose  were  loud  and  his  were  silent. 

"  Where  will  you  put  me  ?"  he  asked,  presently.     "  I  must  be 
put  somewberes,  dear  boy." 
17 


S58  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  To  sleep  1"  said  T. 

"  Yes.  And  to  sleep  long  and  sound,"  he  answered  ;  "for  I've 
been  sea-tossed  and  sea  washed,  weeks  and  months." 

"  My  friend  and  companion, '  said  I,  rising  from  the  sofa,  "  is 
absent,  you  must  have  his  room." 

"  He  won't  come  back  to-morrow,  will  he  ?" 

"No,"  said  I,  answering  almost  mechanically,  in  spite  of  my 
utmost  efforts  ;  "not  to-morrow." 

"  Because,  look'ee  here,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice, 
and  laying  a  long  finger  on  my  breast  in  an  impressive  manner, 
"  caution  is  necessary." 

"  How  do.  vou  mean  ?     Caution  V 

«  By  G— /it's  Death  !" 

"What's  death?''       . 

"  1  was  sent  for  life.  It's  death  to  come  back.  There's  been 
overmuch  coming  back  of  late  years,  and  I  should  of  a  certainty 
be  hanged  if  took." 

Nothing  was  needed  but  Ibis;  Ihe  wretched  man,  after  loading 
wretched  me  with  his  gold  and  silver  chains  for  years,  had  risked 
his  life  to  come  to  me,  and  I  held  it  there  in  my  keeping  !  If  I 
had  loved  him  instead  of  abhorring  him  ;  if  1  had  been  attracted 
to  him  by  the  strongest  admiration  and  affection,  instead  of  shrink- 
ing from  him  with  the  strongest,  repugnance,  it  could  have  been- 
no  worse.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  have  been  better,  for  his 
preservation  would  then  have  naturally  and  tenderly  addressed 
my  heart. 

My  first  care  was  to  close  the  shutters,  so  that  no  light  might  be 
seen  from  without,  and  then  to  close  and  make  fast  the  doors. 
While  I  did  so,  he  stood  at  the  table  drinking  rum  and  eating 
biscuit;  and  when  I  saw  him  thus  engaged,  I  saw  my  convict  on 
the  marshes  at  His  meal  again.  It  almost  seemed  to  me  as  if  he 
must  stoop  down  presently,  to  file  at  his  leg. 

When  I  had  gone  into  Herbeit's  room,  and  had  shut  of!'  any 
other  communication  between  it  and  the  staircase  than  through 
the  room  in  which  our  conversation  had  been  held,  I  asked  him  if 
he  would  go  to  bed  ?  He  said  yes,  but  asked  me  for  some  ol  my 
"  gentleman's  linen  "  to  put  on  in  the  morning.  1  brought  it  out, 
and  laid  it  ready  for  him,  and  my  blood  again  ran  cold  when  he 
again  took  me  by  both  hands  to  give  me  good-night. 

1  got  away  from  him,  without  knowing  how  1  did  it,  and  mend- 
ed the  fire  in  the  room  where  we  had  been  together,  and  sat  down 
by  it,  afraid  to  go  to  beef  For  an  hour  or  more  I  remained  too 
stunned  to  think,  and  it  was  not  until  I  began  to  think  that  1  be- 
gan fully  to  know  how  wrecked  1  was,  and  how  the  ship  in  which 
1  had  sailed  was  gone  to  pieces. 

Miss  Havisham's  intentions  toward  me  all  a  mere  dream  ;  Es- 
teila  not  designed  for  me^  I  ©nty  suffertid  in  Satis  House  a*  a  c<in- 


GREAT  EXPECT  ATTO  W9 

venience,  a  sting  for  the  greedy  relations,  a  model  with  a  mechani- 
cal heart  to  practice  on  when  no  other  practice  was  al  hand  ;  those 
were  the  first,  smarts  I  had.  But,  sharpest  and  deepest  pain  of  all 
— it  was  for  the  convict,  guilty  of  I  know  not  what  crimes,  and 
liable  to  he  taken  out  of  those  rooms  where  I  sat  thinking,  and 
hanged  at  the  Old  Bailey  door,  that  I  had  deserted  doe. 

I  would  not  have  gone  hack  to  Joe  now,  I  would  not  have  gone 
hack  to  Biddy  now,  for  any  consideiation  :  simply,  I  suppose,  he- 
cause  my  sense  of  my  own  worthless  conduct  to  them  was  greater 
than  every  consideration.  No  wisdom  on  earth  could  have  given 
me  the  comfort  that  1  should  have  derived  from  their  simplicity 
and  fidelity  ;  hut  I  could  never,  never,  never  undo  what,  I  had 
done. 

In  every  rage  of  wind  and  rush  of  rain  I  heard  pursuers.  T 
I  could  have  sworn  there  was  a  knocking  and  whispering  at  the 
outer  door.  With  these  fears'  upon  me,  I  began  either  to  imagine 
or  recall  that  I  had  had  mysterious  warnings  of  this  man's  ap- 
proach. Thar  for  weeks  gone  by  I  had  passed  faces  in  the  streets 
which  I  had  thought  like.  his.  That  these  likenesses  had  grown 
more,  numerous  as  lie.  coming  over  the  sea,  had  drawn  nearer. 
That  his  wicked  spirit  had  somehow  sent  these  messengers  to 
mine,  and  that  now  on  this  stormy  night  he  was  as  good  as  his 
word,  and  with  me. 

Crowding  up  with  these  reflections  came  the  reflection  that  I 
had  seen  him  with  my  childish  eyes  to  be  a  desperately  violent 
man  ;  that  I  bad  heard  that  other  convict  reiterate  that  he  had  tried 
to  murder  him  ;  that.  1  had  seen  him  down  in  the  ditch  tearing  and 
lighting  like  a  wild  beast.  Out  of  such  remembrances  I  brought 
into  the  light  of  the  tire  a  half-formed  terror  that  it  might  not  be 
safe  to  he  stmt  up  there  with  him  in  the  dead  of  the  wild  solitary 
night.  This  dilated  until  it  tilled  the  room,  and  impelled  m  •  to 
take  a  candle  and  go  in  and  look  at  my  dreadful  burden. 

There  was  still  much  of  the  old  marsh  character  upon  him,  for 
he  had  rolled  a  handkerchief  round  his  head,  and  his  race  was  set. 
and  lowering  in  his  sleep.  But  he  was  asleep,  and  quietly  too. 
though  he  had  a  pistol  lying  on  the  pillow.  Assured  of  this,  I 
softly  removed  the  key  to  the  outside  of  his  door,  and  turned  it  on 
him  before  1  again  sat.  down  by  the  fire.  Gradually  I  slipped  from 
the  chair  and  lay  on  the  floor.  When  I  awoke,  without  having 
parted  in  my  sleep  witn  the  perception  of  my  wretchedness,  the 
clocks  of  the  Eastern  churches  were  striking  five,  the  candles  were 
wasted  out.  the  fire  was  dead,  and  the  wind  and  ram  intensified  the 
thick  black  darkness.  ,  •    ' 

This  is  the  e\'D  of  the  secund  stage  of  PiP'.s  expecta- 
tions. 


I 


909  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XL, 


It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  had  to  take  precautions  to  insure 
(so  far  as  1  could)  the  safety  of  my  dreaded  visitor,  for  this  thought 
pressing  on  me  when  I  awoke  held  other  thoughts  in  a  confused 
ourse  at  a  distance. 

The  impossibility  of  keeping  him  concealed  in  the  chambers  was 
■self-evident.  It  could  not  be  done,  and  the  attempt  to  do  it  would 
inevitably  engender  suspicion.  True,  I  had  no  Avenger  in  my 
ice  now,  but  I  was  looked  after  by  an  inflammatory  old  female, 
assisted  by  an  animated  rag-hag  whom  she  called  her  niece,  and  to 
keep  a  room  secrel  from  them  would  he  to  invite  curiosity  and  ex- 
aggeration. They  both  had  weak  eves,  which  I  bad  long  attri- 
buted to  their  chronically  looking  in  al  keyholes,  and  they  were 
always  at  hand  when  not  wanted  ;  indeed  that  was  their  only  relia- 
ble quality  besides  larceny.  Not  to  get  up  a  mystery  with  these 
people,  1  resolved  to  announce  in  the  morning  that  my  uncle  had 
unexpectedly  come  from  the  country. 

This  course  1  decided  on  while  1  was  ye  groping  about  in  the 
darkness  for  the  means  of  getting  a  light.  Not  stumbling  on  the 
means  after  all,  1  was  fain  to  go  out  It)  the  Lodge  and  get  the 
watchman  there  to  come  with  his  lantern.  Now,  in  groping  my 
way  down  the  black  staircase  1  fell  over  something,  and  that  some- 
thing was  a  man  crouching  in  a  corner. 

As  t lie  man  made  no  answer  when  T  asked  him  what  he  did 
there,  but  eluded  my  touch  in  silence,  I  ran  to  the  Lodge  and 
urged  the  watchman  to  oome  back  quickly:  telling  him  of  the  in- 
cident on  the  way  back.  The  wind  being  as  tierce  as  ever,  we  did 
nor  care  to  endanger  the  light  in  the  lantern  by  rekindling  the  ex- 
tinguished lamps  on  the  staircase,  but  we  examined  the  staircase 
from  the  bottom  to  rhe  top  and  found  rio  one  there.  It  then  occur- 
red to  me  as  possible  that  the  man  might  have  slipped  into  my 
rooms  ;  so.  lighting  my  candle  at  the  watchman's,  and  leaving  him 
standi):-- at  the  door,  I  examined  them  carefully,  including  the 
mom  in  which  my  dreaded  guest  was  asleep.  All  was  quiet,  aud 
assuredly  no  other  man  was  in  those  chambers. 

It  troubled  me  that  there  should  have  been  a  lurker  on  the 
stairs,  on  that  night  of  all  nigh  is  in  the  year,  and  I  asked  the 
watchman  as  I  handed  him  a  dram  at  the  door,  on  the  chance  of 
eliciting  some  hopeful  explanation,  whether  he  had  admitted  at 
his  gate  any  gentlemen  who  had  perceptibly  been  dining  cut.' 
Yes,  h«  said  j  at  different  times  of  the  night,  three.     One  livtd  in 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  261 

Fountain  Court,  and  the  other  two  lived  in  the  Lane,  and  lie  had 
seen  them  all  go  home.  Again,  the  ■>nl  v  other  man  who  dwell  in 
the  house  of  which  my  chambers  formed  a  part  had  been  in  the 
country  fur   some  weeks;    and  he  certainly  had  not  returned  in 

the  night,  because  we  had  seen  his  door  with  his  seal  on  it  as  we 
came  up  stairs. 

"  The  night  being  so  bad.  Sir,"  said  the  watchman,  as  he  gave 
me  back  my  glass,  "  uncommon  few  have  come  in  at  my  gate. 
Besides  them  three  gentlemen  that  I  have  named,  I  don't  call  to 
mind  another  since  about  eleven  o'clock,  when  a  stranger  asked 
for  you." 

"My  uncle,"   I  muttered.     "Yes." 

"  You  saw  him,  Sir?" 

"  Yes.     Oh  yes." 

"  Likewise  the  person  with  him?" 

"  Person  with  him!"  I  repeated. 

"  I  judged  the  person  to  be  with  him,"  returned  the  watchman. 
"  The  persqn  stopped  when  lie  stopped  to  make  inquiry  of  me,  and 
the  person  took  this  way  when  he  took  this  way." 

"  What  sort  of  person  .'"' 

The  watchman  had  not  particularly  noticed;  he  should  say  a 
working  person  ;  to  the  best  of  his  belief  he  had  a  dust-colored 
kind  of  clot  lies  on,  under  a  dark  coat.  The  watchman  made  more 
light  of  I  he  matter  than  I  did.  and  naturally — not  having  my  rea- 
son for  attaching  weight  to  it. 

When  i  had  got  rid  of  him,  which  T  thought  it  well  to  do  with- 
out prolonging  explanations,  my  mind  was  much  troubled  by  these 
two  circumstances  taken  together.  Whereas  they  were  easy  of 
innocent  solution  apart — as,  for  instance,  some  diner-out,  or  diner- 
at-home,  who  had  not  gone  near  this  watchman's  gate,  might  have 
strayed  to  my  staircase  and  dropped  asleep  there — and  my  name- 
less visitor  might  have  brought  some  one  with  him  to  show  him 
the  way — still,  joined,  they  had  an  ugly  look  to  one  as  prone  to 
distrust  and  fear  as  the  changes  of  a  few  hours  had  made  me. 

I  lighted  my  fire,  which  burned  with  a  raw  pale  look  at  that 
dead  lime  of  the  morning,  and  fell  into  a  doze  before  it,  I  seem- 
ed to  Uave  been  dozing  a  who  e  night  when  the  clocks  struck  six. 
As  there  was  full  an  hour  and  a  ha  f  between  me  and  daylight,  I 
dozed  again;  now,  waking  up  uneasily,  with  prolix  conversations 
about  nothing  still  in  my  ears;  now,  making  thunder  of  the  wind 
in  the  chimney:  at  length  falling  off  into  a  profound  sleep  from 
which  the  daylight  woke  me  with  a  start, 

All  this  time  I  had  never  been  able  to  consider  my  own  situa- 
tion, nor  could  1  do  so  yet,  I  had  not  the  power  to  attend  to  it, 
I  was  greatly  dejected  and  distressed,  but  in  an  incoherent  whole- 
sale sort  of  way.  As  to  forming  any  plan  for  the  future,  I  could 
as  soon  have  formed  an  elephant.     When   I  opened   the  shutters 


I 


2(52  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  » 

and  looked  out  at  the  wet  wild  morning,  all  of  a  leaden  hue  ;  when 
I  walked  from  room  to  room;  when  I  sat  down  again  shivering, 
before  the  rire,  waiting  for  my  laundress  to  appear;  I  thought 
how  miserable  I  was,  bu.t  hardly  knew  why,  or  how  long  I  had 
been  so,  or  on  what  day  e£the  week  I  made  the  reflection,  or  even 
who  I  was  that  made  it. 

At  length  the  old  woman -and  the  niece  came  in-^the  latter  with 
a  head  not  easily  distinguished  from  her  broom — a*j«l  testified  sur- 
prise at  t.he  sight  of  me  and  the  fire.  To  whom  I  imparted  how 
my  uncle  had  come  in  the  night  and  was  then  asleep,  and  how  the 
breakfast  preparations  were  to  be  modified  accordingly.  Then  I 
washed  and  dressed  while  they  knocked  the  furniture  about  and 
made  a  dust,  and  so,  in  a  sort  of  dream  or  sleep-waking,  found 
myself  sitting  by  the  fire  again  waiting  for — Him — to  come  to 
breakfast. 

By-and-by  his  door  opened  and  lie  came  out.  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  bear  the  sight  of  him,  and  I  thought  he  had  a  villain- 
ous look  by  daylight. 

"  I  do  not  even  know,''  said  I,  speaking  low  as  he  took  his  seat 
at  the  table,  "by  what  name  to  call  you.  I  have  given  out  that 
you  are  my  uncle." 

"That's  it,  dear  boy  !     Call  me  uncle." 

"You, assumed  some  name,  1  suppose,  on  board  ship  ?" 

"Yes,  dear  boy.     I  took  the  name  of  1'rovis." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  keep  that  name  \  " 

"  Why,  yes,  dear  boy.  it's  as  good  as  another — unless  you'd  like 
another." 

"  What  is  your  own  name  1  "T  asked  him  in  a  whisper. 

"  Magwitch,"  he  answered  in  the  same  tone;  "chris'en'd  Abe." 

"  Whal  were  you  brought  up  to  be  1 " 
'  "  A  warmint,  dear  hoy."' 

He  answered  quite  seriously,  and  used  the  word  as  if  it  denoted 
some  profession. 

"  When  you  came  into  the  Temple  last  night — "  said  1,  pausing  to 
wonder  whether  that  could  really  have  been  last  night  which  seemed 
so  long  ago. 

"Yes,  dear  boy  !" 

"When  you  came  in  at  the  gate  and  asked  the  watchman  the 
way  here,  had  you  any  one  with  you  ]  " 

"  With  me  ?     >,o,  dear  boy." 

"  But  there  was  some  one  there  ?  " 

"  I  didn't,  take  particular  notice,"  he  said,  dubiously,  "  not  know- 
ing the  ways  of  the  place.  But  I  think  there  was  a  person,  too, 
come  in  alonger  me." 

"  Are  you  known  in  London  ? " 

"  I  hope  not ! "  said  he,  giving  his  neck  a  jerk  with  his  forefin- 
ger that  made  me  .turn  hot  and  sick. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  233 

*'  Were  you  known  in  London  once  ?  " 

"  Nol  over  and  above,  dear  boy.     I  was  in  the  provinces  mostly." 

"  Were  you — tried — in  London 

"  Which  lime  J"  said  he  with  a  sharp  look. 

"The  last  time." 

He  nodded.  "First  knowed  Mr.  daggers  that  way.  'Jaggera 
was  for  me." 

It  was  on  my  lips  to -ask  him  what  lie  was  tried  for,  but  he  took 
Up  a  knife,  gave  it  a  flourish,  and  with  the  words,  "  Ami  whatever 
I  done  is  worked  out  and  paid  for!  "  fell   to  at  his  breakfast. 

He  ate  in  a  ravenous  way  that  was  very  disagreeable,  and  all 
his  actions  were  uncouth,  noisy  and  greedy.  Some  of  his  teeth 
had  failed  him  since  I  saw  him  eat  on  the  marshes,  and  as  he 
turned  his  food  in  his  mouth,  and  turned  his  head  sideways  to 
bring  his  stronger  fangs  to  bear  upon  it,  he  looked  terribly  like  a 
hungry  old  dog.  If  I  had  begun  with  any  appetite  lie  would  have 
taken  it  away,  and  I  should  have  sat  much  as  I  did  —repelled from 
him  by  an  insurmountable  aversion,  and  gloomily  looking  at  the 
cloth/ 

"  I'm  a  heavy  grubber,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  as  a  polite  kind  of 
apology  when  he  had  made  an  end  of  his  meal,  "but  I  always  wos. 
[f  it  had  been  in  my  constitution  to  be  a  lighter  grubber,  I  might 
ha'  got  into  lighter  trouble.  Similarly.  I  must  have  my  smoke. — 
When  I  was  first  hired  out  as  shepherd  t'other  side  the  world,  it's 
my  belief  I  should  ha'  turned  into  a  molloncholly-mad  sheep  my- 
self, if  I  hadn  t  a  had  my  smoke." 

As  he  said  so,  he  got  up  from  the  table,  and  putting  his  hand 
into  the  breast  of  the  pea-coat  he  wore,  brought,  out  a  short  black 
pipe,  and  a  handful  of  loose  tohaot  o  of  the  kind  that  is  called  Ne- 
gro-head. Having  filled  his  pipe,  he  put  the  surplus  tobacco  back 
again,  as  if  his  pocket  were  a  drawer.  Then  he  took  a  live  coal 
from  the  lire  with  the  tongs,  and  lighted  his  pipe  at  it,  and  then 
turned  round  on  the  hearth-rua-  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  went 
through  his  favorite  action  of  holding  out  both  his  hands  for  mine. 

"  And  this,"  said  he,  dandling  my  hands  up  and  down  in  his, 
as  he  pulled  at  is  pipe — "and  this  is  the  gentleman  wot  I  made! 
The  real  genuine  One!  It  does  me  good  fur  to  look  at  you,  Pip. 
All   I  stip'late  is  to  stand  by  and  look  at  you,  dear  boy  !  " 

I  released  my  hands  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  found  that  I  was 
beginning  slowly  to  settle  down  to  the  contemplation  of  my  condi- 
tion. What  1  was  chained  to,  and  how  heavily,  became  intelligi- 
ble to  me,  as  I  heard  his  hoarse  voice,  and  sat  looking  up  At  his 
furrowed  bald  head  with  its  iron-gray  hair  at  the  sides. 

"I  musn't  see  my  gentleman  a  tooling  it  in  the  mire  of  the 
streets:  there  musn't  he  no  mud  on  Am  boots.  My  gentleman  must 
have  horses,  Pip  !  Horses  t  >  ride,  and  horses  to  drive,  and  horses 
for  his  servant  to  ride  and  drive  as  Well.     Shall  colonists  havot.h«ir 


I 


•204  '  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

horses  (and  blood  'uns,  if  you  please,  good  Lord !)  and  not  ray 
London  gentleman  !  No,  no.  We'll  show  "'em  another  pair  of 
shoes  than  that,  Pip;  won't,  us?" 

He  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  great  thick  pocket-  bodk,  bursting 
with  papers,  and  tossed  it  on  the  table. 

"  There's  something  worth  spending  in  that  there  book,  dear . 
boy.  It's  yourn.  All  I've  got  ain't  mine;  it's  yourn.  Don't  you 
be  afraid  on  it.  There's  more  where  that  come  from.  I've  come 
to  the  old  country  fur  to  see  my  gentleman  spend  his  money  hk&  a 
gentleman.  That'll  be  my  pleasure.  My  pleasure  'nil  be  fur  to 
see  him  do  it.  And  blast  you  all!"  he  wound  up,  looking  round 
the  cornice  of  the  room  and  snapping  his  fingers  once  with  a-  loud 
crack,  "  blast  you  every  one,  from  the  judge  in  his  wig  to  the  col- 
onist a  stirring  up  the  dust,  I'll  show  a  better  gentleman  than  the 
whole  kit  on  you  put  together  !  " 

"Stop  !  "  said  I,  almost  in  a  frenzy  of  fear  and  dislike,  "I  want 
1o  speak  to  you.  I  want  to  know  what  is  to  be  done.  I  want  to 
know  how  you  are  to  be  kept  out  of  danger;  how  long  you  aire  go- 
ing to  stay,  what  projects  you  have." 

"  Look'ee  here,  Lip,"  said  lie,  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm  in  a 
suddenly  altered  and  subdued  manner;  "first  of  all,  look'ee  here. 
I  forgot  myself  half  a 'minute  ago.  What  I  said  was  low  ;  that's 
wot  it  was;  low.  Look'ee  here,  Pip.  Look  over  it.  I  ain't  a 
going  to  be  low." 

"  First,"  I  resumed,  half  groaning,  "what  precaution  can  be  ta- 
ken against  your  being  recognized  and  seized  I" 

"  No,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  "that  don't 
go  first.  Lowness  goes  first.  I  ain't  took  so  many  year  to  make 
a  getleman  not  without  knowing  wot's  due  to  him.  Look'ee  here, 
Pip.  I  was  low  ;  that's  wot  I  was :  low.  Look  over  it,  dear 
boy." 

Some  sense  of  the  grimly-ludicrous  moved  me  to  a  fretful  laugh, 
as  I  replied,  "  I  have  looked  over  it.  In  Heaven's  name,  don't 
harp  upon  it !  " 

"  Yes,  but  look'ee  here,"  he  persisted.  "  Dear  boy,  I  ain't  come 
so  fur  to  be  low.     Now,  go  on,  dear  boy.     You  was  saying — " 

"  How  are  you  to  be  guarded  from  the  danger  you  have  in- 
curred !  " 

"  Well,  dear  boy  the  danger  ain't  so  great.  Without  I  was  in- 
formed against,  the  danger  aint  so  much  to  signify.  There's  Jag- 
gers,  and  there's  Wemmick,  and  there's  you.  Who  else  is  there 
to  inform  'I " 

,  "  Is  there  no  chance  person  who  might  identify  you  in  the  street]  ?" 
said  I,  bitterly. 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  "there  ain't  many.  Nor  yet  I  don't  in- 
tend to  advertise  myself  in  the  papers  by  the  name  A.  M.,  come 
back  from  Botany  Bay ;  and  years  have  rolled  away,  and  who's  to 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS'  aG5 

gain  by  it  ?  Still,  look'ee  here,  Pip.  If  the  danger  had  been  fifty 
tinfes  as  great,  I  should  ha' come  to  see  you,  mind  you,  just  the 
same." 

"  And   how  long  do  ymi  remain  ?" 

"  How  long  !*' said  he  taking  his  black  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  dropping  his  jaw  as  he  stared  at  me.  "I'm  not  a  going  back. 
I've  come  for  gopd," 

"  Where  are  you  to  live  (  "  said  I.  "  What  is  to  be  done  with 
you  1     Where"  will  you  he  sale  !  " 

"Dear  hoy,"  he  returned,  "there's  disguising  wigs  can  be 
bought  for  money,  and  there's  hair  powder,  and  spectacles,  and 
black  (dot  hes— shorts,  and  wot  not.  Others  has  done  it  sale  afore., 
and  wot  others  has  done  afore  others  can  do  agen.  As  to  the 
where  and  how  of  living,  dear  hoy,  give  me  your  own  opinions  on 
it-  ' 

"You  take  it  smoothly,  now,"  said  I.  "but  you  were  very  Be 
rious  last  night  when  you  swore  it  was  Death." 

'•  And  so  1  swear  it  is  Death,"  said  he,  putting  his  pipe  back 
in  his  mouth,  "and  Death  by  the  rope,  in  the  open  street  not  fur 
from  this,  and  it's  serious  that  you  should  fully  understand  it  to 
he  so.  Wot  then,  when  that's  once  done?  Here  I  am.  To  go 
hack  now  'ud  he  as  had  as  to  stand  ground — worse.  esides,  Pip, 
I'm  here,  because  I've  meant  it  by  you,  years  and  years.  As  to 
wot  I  dare,  Dm  a  old  bird  now.  as  lias  dared  all  manner  of  traps 
since  first  he  was  fledged,  and  Dm  not  afraid  to  perch  upon  a 
scare-crow.  If  there's  Death  hid  inside  of  it.  there  is,  and  let 
him  come  out,  and  I'll  lace  him,  and  then  I'll  believe  in  him  and 
not  afore.     And  now  let  me  have  a  look  at  my  gentleman  agen." 

Once  more  he  took  me  by  both  hands  and  surveyed  me  with  an 
air  of  admiring  proprietorship;  smoking  with  great  complacency 
all  the  while. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  I  could  do  no  better  than  secure  him 
some  quiet  lodging  hard  by,  of  which  he  might  take  possession 
when  Herbert  returned:  whom  I  expected  in  I  wo  or  three  days. 
That  the  secret  must  he  confided  to  Herbert  as  fi  matter  of  una- 
voidable necessity,  even  if  I  could  have  put  the  immense  relief  I 
should  derive  from  sharing  it  with  him  out  of  the  question,  w;i- 
plain  tome,  But  il  was  by  no  means  so  plain  to  Mr.  Provis  (I 
resolve/3  to  call  him  by  that  name),  who  reserved  his  consent  to 
Herbert's  participation  until  he  should  have  seen  him  and  formed 
a  favorable  judgment  of  his  physiognomy  "  And  even  then, dear 
boy,"  said  he,  pulling  a  greasy  little  clasped  black  Testament  out 
of  his  pocket,  "we'll  have  him  on  his  oath." 

To  state  that  my  terrible  patron  carried  this  little  black  book 
about  the  world  solely  to  swear  people  on  in  cases  of  emergency, 
would  he  to  state  what  1  never  quite  established — hut  this  1  can 
say.  that  1  never  knew  him  to  put  it  to  any  other  use.     The  hook 


I 


2  68  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

itself  had  the  appearance  of  having  heen  stolen  from  some  court 
of  justice,  and  perhaps  his  knowledge  of  its  antecedents  combined 
with  his  own  experience  in  il.at  wise,  gave  him  a  reliance  on  its 
powers  as  a  sort  <i'  legal  spell  or  charm.  On  this  first  occasion  of 
his  producing  it,  I  recalled  how  he  had  made  me  swear  fidelity  in 
the  church-yard  long  ago,  and  how  he  had  described  himself  last 
night  as  swearing  to  his  resolution  in  his  solitude. 

As  he  was  at  present  dressed  in  a  sea-faring  slop  suit,  in  which 
he  looked  as  if. he  had  a  parrot  or  two  and  a  few  cigars  to  dispose 
of,  I  next  discussed  with  him  what  dress  he  should  wear.  He 
cherished  an  extraordinary  belief  in  the  virtues  of  "  shorts"  as  a 
disguise,  and  had  in  his  own.  mind  sketched  a  dress  for  himself 
that  would  have  made  him  something  between  a  dean  and  a  den- 
tist. It  was  with  considerable  difficulty  that  I  won  him  over  to 
the  assumption  of  a  dress  more  like  a  prosperous  farmer's  ;  and  we 
arranged  that  he  should  cut  his  hair  close  and  wear  a  little  pow- 
der. Lastly,  as  he  had  not  yet  been  seen  by  the  laundress  or  her 
niece,  he  was  to  keep  himself  out  o!  their  view  until  his  change  of 
dress  was  made. 

I-t  would  seem  a  simple  matter  to  decide  on  these  precautions  ; 
but  in  my  dazed,  not  to  say  distracted,  state,  it  took  so  long  tliat 
I  did  not  get  out  to  further  them  until  two  or  three  in  the  after- 
noon. He  was  to  remain  shut  up  in  the  chambers  while  I  was 
gone,  and  was  on  no  account  to  open  the  door. 

There  being  to  my  know  edge  a  respectable  lodging-house  in 
Essex  Street,  the  back  of  which  looked  into  the  Temple,  and  was 
almost  within  hail  of  my  windows,  I  first  of  all  repaired  to  that 
house,  and  was  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  the  second  floor  for  Mr. 
Provis.  I  then  went  from  shop  to  shop,  inakin/  such  purchases 
as  were  necessary  to  the  change  in  his  appearance.  This  busi- 
ness transacted,  I  turned  my  face  on  my  own  account,  to  Little 
Britain.  Mr.  .Taggers  was  at  his  desk,  but,  seeing  me  enter,  got 
up  immediate. y  and  stood  before  his  fire". 

"  aow,  Pip,"  said  he,  "be  careful. 

"I  will,  Sir,"  «I  returned.  For  I  had  thought  well  of  what  I 
was  going  to  say  coming  along. 

"  Don't  commit  yourself,"  said  Mr.,  Jaggers,  "and  don't  com- 
mit any  one.  You  understand — any  one.  Don't  tell  me  any 
thing:  I  don't  want  to  know  any  tiling;  I  am  not  curious." 

Of  course  I  saw  that  he  knew  the  man  was  come. 

"  I  merely  want,  Mr.  Jaggen,"  said  I,  "  to  assure  myself  that 
what.  I  have  been  told  is  true,  I  have  no  hope  of  its  being  untrue, 
but  at  least  I  may  verify  it" 

Mr.  Jaggers  nodded.  "  But  did  you  say  '  to!d,'  or  '  informed  V  " 
he  asked  me,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  not  looking  at  me,  but 
looking  in  a  iisteniug  way  to  the  liuor.     "  Told  would  seeui  to  im- 


I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  OCT 

ply  verbal  communication.  You  can't,  have  verbal  communica- 
tion with  a  man  in  New  South  Wales." 

"  1  will  say  informed,  Mr.  Jaggers." 

"Good." 

"  I  have  been  informed  by  a  person  named  Abel  Magwilch  that 
he  is  the  benefactor  80  long  unknown  to  me." 

"That  is  the  man,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  " — inNew  South  Wales/  ' 

"  And  only  he  1 '  said  I. 

"And  only  he,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  1  am  not  so  unreasonable.  Sir,  as  to  think  you  at  all  responsi- 
ble for  ray  mistake  and  wrong  conclusions ;  But  1  always  sup- 
posed it  was  Miss  Havisham." 

"As  you  say,  Pip,"  returned  Mr.  Jaggers,  turning  his  eyes 
upon  me  coolly,  and  taking  a  bite  at  his  forefinger.  "  1  am  not  at 
all  responsible  for  that." 

'•*And  yet  it  looked  so  like  it,  Sir,"  I  pleaded,  with  a  miserable 
heart. 

"Not  a  particle  of  evidence,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  shaking 
his  head  and  gathering  up  his  skirts.  "Take  .nothing  on  its 
looks;   lake  every  thing  on  evidence.     There's  no  better  rule.' 

"  i  have  no  more  to  say,"  said  1,  with  a  sigh, after  standing 
downcast  for  a  little  while.  ■"  I  have  verified  my  information,  and 
there  an  end."  *. 

"  And  Magwiteh#-in  New  South  Wales — having  at  last  dis- 
closed himself,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "you  will  comprehend,  Pip, 
how  rigidly  throughout  my  communication  with  yon  I  have  al- 
ways adhered  to  the  strict  lineal  fact.  There  has  never  been  the 
least  departure  from  the  strict  line  of  fact.  You  are  quite  aware 
of  that  ?" 

'.♦  Quite,  Sir." 

"1  communicated  to  Magwitch — in  New  South  Wales — when 
he  first,  wrote  to  me — from  New  South  Wales — the  caution  that 
he  must  not  expect  me  ever  to  deviate  from  the  slriel  line  of  fact. 
1  a. so  communicated  to  him  another  caution,  lie  appeared  to  me 
to  have  obscurely  hinted  in  his  letter  at  some  distant  idea  he  had 
of  seeing  you  in  England  here.  1  cautioned  him  that  I  must  hear 
no  more  of  that  ;  that  he  was  not  likely  to  obtain  a  pardon;  that 
lie  was  expatriated  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life;  and  that  his 
presenting  himself  in  this  country  won  d  he  an  act  of  felony,  ren- 
dering him  liable  to  the  extreme  penalty  of  i  lie  law.  I  gave  Mag- 
witch  that  caution,"  said  Mr.  daggers,  looking  hard  at  me;  "  I 
wrote  it  to  New  South  Wales.  He  guided  himself  by  it,  no 
doubt." 

••  No  doubt,"  said  T. 

"  1  have  been  informed  by  Wemmiek,"  pursued  Mr.  Jaggers, 
still  looking  hard  at  me,  "thai  he  has  received  a  letter,  under 
date  Portsmouth,  from  a  colonist  of  the  name  of  Purvis,  or — " 


9-63  *  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Or  Provis,"  I  suggested. 

"  Or  Provis — thank  you,  Pip.  Perhaps  it  is  Provis  ?  Perhaps 
you  know  it's  Provis  ?" 

"  Yes,'"   said  I. 

"  Jusr  so.  A  letter,  under  date  Portsmouth,  from  a  colonist  of 
the  name  of  Provis,  asking  for  the  particulars  of  your  address,  on 
behalf  of  Magwitch.  Wemmick  sent  him  the  particulars,  I  un- 
derstand, by  return  of  post.  Probably  it  is  through  Provis  that 
you  have  received  the  explanation  of  Magwitch — in  New  South 
•Wales?' 

"  It  came  through  Provis,"  I  replied. 
i  "  Good-day,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  J  aggers,  ottering  his  hand  ;  "glad 
to  ha-ve  seen  you.  In  writing  by  post  jo  Magwitch — in  New 
South  Wales — or  in  communicating  with  him  through  Provis, 
have  the  goodness  to  mention  that  the  particulars  and  vouchers 
of  our  long  account  shall  be  sent  to  you,  together  with  the  bal- 
ance ;  tor  there  is  still  a  balance  remaining  in  my  charge.  Good- 
day,  Pip!" 

"We  shook  hands,  and  he  looked  hard  at  me  us  long  as  he  could 
see  me.  1  turned  at  the  door,  and  he  was  sfill  looking  hard  at 
me,  while  ihe  two  vile  casts  on  the  shelf  seemed  to  be  trying  to  get 
their  eyelids  open,  and  to  force  out  of  their  swollen  throats,  "  Oh, 
what  a  man  he  is  !  " 

Wemmick  was  ouf,  and  though  he  had  been  at  his  desk  he  could 
have  done  nothing  for  me.  1  went  straight  back  to  the  Temple, 
wh.  re  I  found  ihe  terrible  Provis  drinking  rum-and-water  and 
smoking  negro-head  in  safely. 

Next  day  the  clothes  I  had  ordered  all  .came  home,  and  he  put 
them  on.  Whatever  he-  put  on  became  him  less  (it  dismally  seemed 
to  me)  than  what  he  had  worn  before.  To  my  thinking,  there  was 
something  in  him  that  made  it  hopeless  to  attempt  to  disguise  him. 
The  more  1  dressed  him,  and  the  better  I  dressed  him,  the  more 
he  looked  like  ihe 'slouching  fugitive  on  ihe  marshes.  This  effect 
on  my  anxious  fancy  was  partly  referrable,  no  doubt,  to  bis  old 
face  and  manner  growing  more  familiar  to  me  ;  but  I  believe,  toe 
be  dragged  one  of  his  legs  as  if  there  were  still  a  weight  of  "iron 
on  it,  and  that  from  head  to  foot  there  was  Convict  in  the  very 
gram  of  the  man. 

The  influences  of  his  solitary  hut-life  were  upon  him  besides,  and 
gave  him  a  savage  air 'that  no  dress  could  tame;  added  to  these 
were  the  influences  of  his  subsequent  branded  life  among  men,  and 
crowning  all,  his  consciousness  that  he  was  dodging  and  hiding 
now.  In  all  his  ways  of  sitting  and  standing,  and  eating,  and 
drinking — of  brooding  about  in  a  high-shouldered  reluctant  style — 
of  taking  out  bis  great  horn-handled  jack-knife  and  wiping  ii  on 
bis  legs  and  cutting  his  food — of  lifting  light  glasses  and  cups  to 
his  lips  as  if  they  were  great  pannikins — of  chopping  a  wedge  off 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  269 

bis  bread,  and  soaking  up  with  if  the  last  fragments  of  gravy  round 
and  round  his  plate,  as  if  to  make  the  most,  of  an  allowance,  and 
then  drying  liis  finger-ends  on  it,  and  then  swallowing  it— in  these 
ways  and  a  thousand  other  small  nameless  instances  arising  every 
minute  in  the  day,  there  was  Prisoner,  Felon,  Bondsman,  plain  as 
plain  could  be.  .  * 

It  had  been  his  own  idea  to  wear  that  touch  of  powder,  and  T 
had  conceded  the  powder  alter  overcoming  the  shorts.  But  1  can 
compare  the  effect  of  it,  when  on,  to  nothing  but  the  probable  ef- 
fect of  rouge  upon  the  dead  ;  so  awful  was  the  manner  in  which 
everything  in  him  that  it  was  most  desirable  to  repress  started 
through  that  thin  layer  of  pretense,  and  seemed  to  come  blazing 
out  at  the  crown  oi  his  head.  It  was  abandoned  as  soon  as  tried, 
and   he  wore  his  grizzled  hair  cut  short. 

Wm-ds  cannot  tell  what  a  sense  I  hail,  at  the  same  time,  of  the 
dreadful  mystery  that  he  was  to  me.  When  he  fell  asleep  of  an 
evening  with  his  knotted  hands  clenching  the  sines  of  the  easy 
chair,  and  his  bald  head  tattooed  with  deep  wrinkles  falling  for- 
ward on  his  breast,  I  would  sit  and  look  at  him,  wondering  what 
he  had  done,  loading  biro  with  all  the  crimes  in  the  calendar,  until 
the  impulse  was  powerful  on  me  to  start  up  and  fly  from  him. — 
Every  hour  so  increased  my  abhorrence  of  him  that  I  even  think 
1  might  have  yielded  to  this  impulse  in  the  first  agonies  of  being 
so  haunted,  notwithstanding  all  he  had  done  for  me,  and  the  risk 
he  ran,  bill  for  the  nowledge  that  Herbert  must  soon  come  hack. 
Once  1  actually  did  start  nut  of  lied  in  the  night,  and  begin  to 
dress  myself  in  my  worst  clothes,  hurriedly  intending  to  leave  him 
therewith  everything  else  1  possessed,  and  enlist  for  India  as  a 
private  soldier. 

I  doubt  if  a  ghost  could  have  been  more  terrible  to  me,  up  in 
those  lonely  rot  ins  in  the  long  evenings  and  long  nights,  with  the 
wind  and  the  rain  always  rushing  by.  A  ghost  could  tint  have 
been  taken  and  hanged  on  my  account,  and  the  consideration  that 
he  could  be,  and  the  dread  that  he  would  he,  were  no  small  addi- 
tion to  my  horrorsi  When  he  was  asleep  or  playing  a  complicated 
kind  of  Patience  with  a  ragged  pack  of  cards  of  his  own — a  game 
thai  I  never  saw  before  or  since,  and  in  which  he  recorded  his 
winnings  by  sticking  his  jack-knife  into  the  table — when  he  was 
nnt  engaged  in  either  of  these  pursuits  he  would  ask  me  to 
read  to  him — "  Some  French,  dear  hoy  !  "  While  I  complied,  he, 
not  comprehending  a  single  word,  would  stand  before  the  tire  sur- 
veying  me  with  the  air  of  an  exhibitor,  and  I  would  see  him,  be- 
tween the  fingers  of  the  hand  with  which  I  shaded  my  face,  ap- 
ng  in  dumb  show  to  the  furniture  to  take  notice  of  my  pro- 
icy.  The  imaginary  student  pursued  by  the  misshapen  crea- 
ture he  had  impiously  made  Was  not  more  wretched  than  I.  pursu- 
ed by  thu  creature  who  hud  made  me,  and  recoiling  from  lam  with 


270  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  stronger  repulsion  the  more  he  admired  me  and  the  fonder  he 
was  of  me. 

This  is  written  of,  I  am  sensible,  as  if  it  had  lasted  a  year.  It 
lasted  ahout  five  days.  Expecting  Herbert  all  the  time,  I  dared 
not  go  out,  except  when  1  took  Provis  for  an  airing  after  dark. — 
At  length,  one  evening  when  dinner  was  over  and  1  had  dropped 
into  a  slumber,  quite  worn  out — tor  my  nights  had  been  agitated 
and  my  rest  broken  by  fearful  dreams — I  was  roused  by  the  wel- 
come footstep  on  the  staircase.  Provis,  who  had  been  asleep  too, 
staggered  up  at  the  noise  1  made,  and  in  an  instant  1  saw  his  jack- 
knife  shining  in  his  hand. 

1  '•  Steady  !  It's  Herbert  !''  I  said;  and  Herbert  came  bursting 
in,  with  the  airy  freshness  of  six  hundred  miles  of  France  upon 
him. 

'  "  Handel,  my  dear  fellow,  how  are  you,  and  again  how  are  yon, 
and  again  how  are  you?  I  seem  to  have  been  gone  a  twelvemonth  ! 
Why,  so  I  must  have  been,  for  you  have  grown  thin  and  pale  ! — 
Handel,  my — Halloa  !  I  beg  your  pardon.'1 

He  was  stopped  in  bis  rattling  on  and  Ids  shaking  hands  with 
me  by  seeing  l'rovis.  Provis,  regarding  him  with  a  fixed  atten- 
tion, was  slowly  putting  up  Ids  jack  knife,  and  groping  in  anoth- 
er pocket  for  something  else. 

"  Herbert,  my  dear  friend,''  said  I,  shutting  the  double  doors, 
while  Herbert  stood  staring  and  wondering,  "something  very 
strange  has  happened.     This  is — a  visitor  of  mine." 

"  It's  all  right,  dear  boy  !"  said  Provis.  coining  forward,  with 
his  little  clasped  black  book,  and  then  addressing  himself  to  Her- 
bert. "  Take  it  in  your  right  Irand.  Lord  strike  you  dead  on  the 
spot  if  you  ever  split  in  any  way  sumever  !     Kiss  it  !  " 

"  Do  so,  as  he  wishes  it,''  I  said  to  Herbert,  So  Herbert,  look- 
ing wiih  a  friendly  uneasiness  at  me,  complied,  and  l'rovis  imme- 
diately shaking  hands  with  him,  said,  "  how,  you're  on  your  oath, 
you  know.  And  never  believe  me  on  mine  if  Pip  don't  make  a 
gentleman  on  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


In  vain  should  I  attempt  to  describe  the  astonishment  and  dis- 
quiet of  Herbert  when  he  and  I  and  Provis  sit  down  before  the 
hre,  and  1  recounted  the  whole  of  the  secret.  Enough  that  I  saw 
tuy  own  feelings,  rejected  in  Herbert's  fac«,  and,  not.  leasl  among 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  271 

them,  my  repugnance  toward  the  man  who  bad  done  so  much  for 
me. 

What  would  alone  have  set  a  division  between  that  man  and  us, 
if  there  had  been  no  other  dividing  circumstan  e,  was  Ins  triumph 
in  my  story.  Saving  his  troublesome  sense  of  having  been  "low"  on 
one  occasion  since  his  return — on  which  point  he  liegan  to  hold  forth 
to  Herbert  the  moment  my  revelation  wasfinished — he  had  no  percep- 
tion of  the  possibility  of  my  finding  any  fault  with  my  good  for- 
tune. His  boast  that  lie  bad  made  me  a  gentleman,  and  thai  he 
bad  come  to  see  me  support  the  character  on  his  ample  resources, 
was  made  for  me  quite  as  much  as  for  himself;  and  that  il  was  a 
highly  agreeable  boast  to  both  of  us,  and  that  we  must  both  he  very 
proud  of  it.  was  a  conclusion  quite  established  in  his  own  mind. 

"Though,  look'ee  here.  Pip's  comrade,"  he  said  to  Herbert,  af- 
ter having  discoursed  for  some  time,  "  I  know  very  well  that  once 
since  1  come  bad; — for  half  a  minute — I've  been  low.  I  said  to 
Tip,  I  knowed  as  I  had  been  low.  But  don't  you  fret  yourself 
on  that  score.  I  ain't  made  Tip  a  gentleman,  and  Tip  ain't  going 
to  make  you  a  gentleman,  not  fur  me  not  to  know  what's  due  to 
ye  both.  Dear  boy,  and  Pip's  comrade,  you  two  may  count  upon  me 
•  always  having  a  geh-teel  muzzle  on.  Muzzled  I  have  been  sine 
that  half  a  minute  when  1  was  betrayed  into  lowness,  muzzled  I 
am  at  the  present  time,  muzzled    1  ever  will  be." 

Herberl  said.  "Certainly,"  but  'ooked  as  if  there  were  no  spe- 
cific consolation  in  this,  and  remained  perplexed  and  dismayed. 
We  were  anxious  for  the  time  when  he  would  gcto  his  h  dging 
and  leave  us  together;  but  be  was  evidently  jealous  of  leaving  us 
together,  and  sat  late.  It  was  midnight  before  I  took  him  round 
to  Essex  Street,  and  saw  him  safely  in  at  his  own  dark  door. 
When  it  (dosed  upon  him  1  experienced  the  first  moment  of  relief 
I  had  known  since  the  night  ot  his  arrival.  • 

Never  qliite  free  trom  an  uneasy  remembrance  of  the  man  on 
the  stairs.  1  had  always  looked  about  me  in  taking  my  guest  put 
after  dark',  and  in  bringing  him  back  ;  and  1  looked  about  me 
now.  Difficult  as  it  is  in  a  large  city  to  avoid  the  suspicion  of 
being  watched,  when  the  mind  is  conscious  of  danger  in  that  re- 
OOt  persuade  myself  that  any  of  the  people  within 
bight  cared  about  my  movements.  The  few  who  were  passing 
passed  on  their  several  ways,  and  the  street  was  empty  when  I 
tinned  back  into  the  Temp  e.  Nobody  had  come  out  at  the  gate 
With  us,  nobody  went  in  at  the  gate  with  me.  As  1  crossed  by 
the  fountain,  I  saw  his  lighted  back  windows  looking  bright  and 
quiet,  and  when  1  stood  for  a  lew  moments,  in  the  doorway  of  the 
building  where  I  lived,  before  going  up  stairs,  Garden  Court  was 
as  si  ill  and  lifeless  as  the  staircase  was  when  I  ascended  it. 

Herbert  received  me  with  open  arms,  and  I  had  never  fell  be- 
fore, m  l>ki*suliy,  what  it  L*  to  bav<*  a  iriccd.     W1i«d  h*>  hiul 


♦272  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

spoken  some  sound  words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement,  we 
sat  down  to  consider  the  question,  What  was  to  be  done? 

The  chair  that  Provfs  hafd  occupied  still  remaining  where  it  had 
stood — for  he  had  a  barrack  way  with  him  of  hanging  about  one 
spot,  in  one  unsettled  manner,  and  going  through  one  round  of 
observances  with  his  pipe  and  his  negro-head  and  his  jack-knife 
and  his  pack  of  cards,  and' what  not,  as  if  it  were  all  put  down 
for  him  on  a  slate — I  say,  his  chair  remaining  where  it  had  stood, 
Herbert  unconsciously  took  it,  but  next  moment  started  out  of  it, 
pushed  it  away,  and  took  another.  He  had  no  occasion  to  say 
after  thart  that  he  had  conceived  an  aversion  for  my  patron,  nei- 
ther had  I  occasion  to  confess  my  own.  We  interchanged  that 
confidence  without  shaping  a  syllable. 

"  What,"  said  I  to  Herbert,  when  he  was  safe  in  another  chair, 
"what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  My  pi  or  dear  Handel,"  he  replied,  holding  his  head,  "  I  am 
too  stunned  to  think." 

"  So  was  J,  Herbert,  when  the  blow  first  fell.  Still,  something 
must  be  done.  He  is  intent  upon  various  new  expenses — horses, 
and  carriages,  and  lavish  appearances  of  all  kinds.  lie  must  be 
slopped,  somehow." 

"  Von  mean  that  you  can't  accept — ?" 

"How  caul?"  I  interposed,  as  Herbert  paused.  "Think  of 
him  !     Look  at  him  !" 

An  involuntary  shudder  passed  over  both  of  us. 

"Yet  I  am,  afraid  the  dreadful  truth  is,  Herbert,  that  he  is  at- 
tached to  me,  sironglv  attached  to  me.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
fate!  ' 

"  My  poor  dear  Handel,"  Herbertjrepeated. 

"Then,"  said  I,  "after  all,  stopping  short  here,  never  taking 
another  penny  from  kirn,  think  what  I  owe  him  already  !  Then 
again  :  I  am  heavily  in  debt — very  heavily  for  me,  who  have  now 
no  expectations  at  all — and  I  have  been  bred  to  no  ca  ling,  and  I 
am  tit  for  nothing." 

"Well,  well,  well!'  Herbert  remonstrated.  "Don't  say  tit 
for  nothing." 

"  What  am  I  fit  for?  I  know  only  one  thing  that  I  am  fit  for, 
and  that  is,  to  go  for  a  soldier.  And  I  might,  have  gone,  my  dear 
Herbert,  but  for  the  prospect  of  taking  counsel  with  your  friend- 
ship and  affectum." 

Of  course  I  broke  down  there;  and  of  course  Herbert,  beyond 
seizing  a  warm  grip  of  my  hand,  pretended  not  1o  know  it. 

"Any  how.  my  .dear  Handel,"  said  he,  presently,  "soldiering 
woi't  do.  If  you  were  to  renounce  this  patronage  and  these 
favors,  I  suppose  you  would  do  so  with  some  faint  hope  of  one 
day  repaying  what  you  have  already  had.  Not  very  strong  that 
hope  if  you  went  soldiering !     Besides,  it's  absurd.    You  wou;d 


GREAT  EXPECTATION*.  J?^ 

be  infinitely  better- in  Clan-fleer's  house,  small  as  it  is.  1  ;rm  work- 
ing up  toward  a  partnership,  you  know." 

';•  !'(\lo\v  !     lie  little,  suspected  with  whose  money. 

"Bui  there  is  another  question."  said  rlerberfe,     "  Tl  is  is  an 
ignorant,  determined  man.  who  has  long  had  one  fixed  id 
than  thai,  ho  seems  to  me  (I  may  misjudge  him)  to  be  a  man  of  a 
desperate  ami  tierce  cha 

'•  I  know  lie  is."  I  returned.  "  Let.  me  tell  you  what  evidence 
1  have  seen  of  it  "  And  I  t«>ld  him  what  I  had  not  mentioned  in 
my  narrative;  of  that  encounter  with  the  other  emu 

"See.  then!"  said  Ileihert;  "think  of  this!  lie  comes  here 
at  the  peril  of  his  life  for  the  realization  of  his  fixed  idea.  Tn  the 
moment  of  realization,  after  all  hip  toil  and  waiting;  you  cut  the 
ground  from  under  his  feet,  destroy  his  idea,  and  make  his  gains 
worthless  to  him.  Uo  you  see  nothing  that  he  might  dp,  unfler 
the  disappointment  .'" 

"  f  have  seen  it.  Herbert, -and  dreamed  of  it  ever  since  the 
night  of  his  arrival.  Nothing  has  been  in  my  thoughts  so 
tinctly  as  his  putting  himself  in  the  way  of  being  taken." 

'•'I  Men  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  Herbert,  "  flu  mid 

be  great  danger  of  his  d  »ing  it.  That  is  bis  power  over  you  as, 
long  as  he  remains  in  England,  and  that  would  be  bis  reckless 
course  if  you  fofrsooR  him." 

I  was  so  struck  by  the  horror  of  this  idea,  which  had  weighed 
upon  me  from  the  first,  and  the  working  out  of  which  w.ould  make 
me  regard  m  self,  in  spme  sort,  as  his  murderer,  that  I  could  not 
rest  in  my  chair  but  began  pacing  to  and  fro.  X  said  fo  Herbert, 
meanwhile,  that  even  if  1'rovis  were  recognized  and  taken  in 
of  himself,  1  should  be  wretched  as  the  cause,  however  innocently. 
Yes ;  even  though  1  was  so  wretched  in  having  him  at  large  and 
near  me.  and  even  though  1  would  far,  far  rather  have  worked  at 
the  forge  all  the  da\s  ol  than  I  Would  have  ever  come  to 

this  ! 

But  there  was  no  staving  off  the  question,  What  was  to  be 
done  i 

"The  first  and  the  main  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Herbert,  "is 
to  gel  him  out  of  England.  You  will  have  to  go  with  him,  and 
then  he  may  be  induced  logo." 

"But  get  him  where  I  will,  could  T  prevent  bis  coming  back  V 

"  My  good  Handel,  is  it  not  obvious  that,  with  Newgate  in  the 
next  street,  there  must  be  far  greater  hazard  in  yutirbreaking 
your  mind  to  him  and  making  him  reckless  here  than  elsewhere  ' 
If  a  pretext  to  get  him  away  could  be  made  out  of  that  other  con- 
vict, or  out  of  any  thing  else  in  his  life  now." 

"There,  again!"  said    I,   stopping   before  Herbert,  with  my 
open  hands.held  out  as  if  they  contained  the  desperation  of  the 
casu.     "  1  know  nothing  of  his  life.     It  has  almost  made  me  mad 
11 


274  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

to  sir.  here  of  a  night  and  see  him  before  me,  so  bound  up  with  my 
fortunes  and  .misfortunes,'  and  yet  so  unknown  to  me,  except  as 
the  miserable  wretch  who  terrified  me  two  days  in  my  childhood  !•" 

Herbert  got  up,  and  linked  his  arm  in  mine,  and  we  sTwwly 
walked  to  and  fn>  together,  studying  jfcfoe  carpet. 

"  Handei,"  said  'Herbert,  stop-ping,'  •■you  feel  convinced  that 
you  can  take  no  further  benefits  front  him  ;  do  yon  ?" 

"Fully.     Surely  you  would,  too,  if  you  were  in  my  place  V 

"And  you  feel  convinced  that  you  must  break  with  him  V 

"  Herbert,  can  you  ask  me  ?" 

"And  you  have,  and  arc  bound  to  have,  that  tenderness  for  the 
life  he  has  risked  on  your  account,  that  you  must  save  him,  if  pos- 
sible, from  throwing  it  away.  Then  you  must  get  him  out  of 
England  before  you  stir  a  finger  to  extricate  yourself.  That, 
done,  extricate  yourself,  in  Heaven's  name,'  and  we'  1  see.  if  out 
together,  dear  old  boy.  ' 

It  was  a  comfort  to  shake  hands  upon  it,-and  walk  up  arid  down 
again,  with  only  that  done. 

"Now,   Herbert,"    said   I,  "with    reference    to  ,gaini 
knowledge  of  his  history.     There  is  but  one  way  that  I  know  of. 
I  must  ask  him  point-blank." 

•  "Yes.  Ask  i.imT  said  Herbert,  "when  we  sit  at  breakfasf  in 
the  morning."  For  Ire.  had  safe,  on  taking  leave  of  Herbert,  that 
he  would  come  to  breakfast  with  us. 

With  ti'is  project -formed,  we  went  to  bed.  I  bad  the  wildest 
dreams  concerning  him,  and  woke  un refreshed  ;  I  woke,  too,  to 
recover  the  fear  wh'n-h  I  had  lost  in  the  night,  of  his  being  found 
o.t  as  a  returned  transport.     Wa  fing,  I.  never  lost,  thai  h 

He  came  round  at  the  appointed  time,  took  out  hi-- jack-knife, 
and  sat  down  to  his  meal.  He  was  full  of  plans  "for  his  gentle- 
man's coming  out  strong,  and  like  a  gentleman."  and  urged  me  to 
begin  speedily  upon  the  pocket-book,  which  he  had  left  in  my  pos- 
session. He  considered  the  chambers  and  his  own  lodging  as  tem- 
porary residences,  and  advised  me  to  look  out  at  once  for  "  a  fash- 
ionable crib"  in  which  he  could  have  a  "shake  down,'  near  Hyde 
Park.  When  lie  had  made  an  end  of  his  breakfast,  and  was  wip- 
ing his  knife  on  his  leg,  I  said  to  him,  without  a  wor  ;  of  preface  : 

"After  you  were  gone  last  night  I  told  my  friend  of  the  strug- 
gle that  the  soldiers  found  you  engaged  in  on  the  marshes  when 
we  came  up.     You  remember  '.  " 

"  Remember !  "  said  he.     "  I  think  so. !  " 

"We  want  to  know  something  about  that  man — and  about  you. 
It  is  strange  to  know  no  more  about  either,  and  particularly  you, 
th  it  I  was  able  to  tell  la-t  night.  Is  not  this  as  good  a  time  as 
another  for  our  knowing  more  ?  " 

"  Well !"  he  said,  after  consideration.  "You're  on  your  oath, 
you  know,  Pip's  comrade?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  *76 

"  Assurer iy,"  repljeid  Herbert. 

•'As  to  anything   I   say.  yon  know,"  lie  insisted.      "The  oath 
applies  in   i 

"  I  understand  if"  to  do  no'" 

"Ami  fook'ea.fwrei      Whatever  1  done,  is  worked  out  and  paid 
for."'  hi  insi,icil  again. 

"  s(,  he  ii." 

lie  took  out  his  blaok  pipe  and  was  going  to  (ill  ii  with  negro- 
betfd,  when,  looking  at  the  tangle  of  tohacco  in  his  hand,  hose 
to  think  it  might  perplex  the  thread  of  his  narrative.  He  put  it 
back  again,  stuok  his  pipe  in  a  huttomhole  of  his  coat,  spread  a 
hand  on  Cacb  knee,  an<!,  aftar  Riming  an  angry  eye  on  the  tire  for 
a  few  silent  moments,  looked  round  at  us  and  said  what  follows. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


"  Dkak  h  »y,  and  Pir/s  Comrade.  I  am  not  a  going  fur  to  telt 
you  my  life,  like  a  song  or  a  story-hook.  Bui  to  give  \\  you  short 
and  handy,  I'll  put  it  at  mice  into  a  mouthful  of  English.  In  jail 
and  out  of  jail,  in  jail  and  out  of  jail,  in  jail  and  out  of  jail. — 
There  you've  got  it.  That's  my  life  pretty  much,  down  to  stieh 
times  as  I   gol  stripped  off,  arte*  Tip  stood  my  friend. 

"I've  beeq  done  every  thing  to,  pretty  well — except  hanged. — 
I've  been  looked  up,  as  much  as  a  silver  tea-kettle.  I've  heen  cart- 
ed here  and  carted  there,  and  put  out  of  this  town  and  put  out  of 
that  town,  am!  stuck'in  Ihe  stocks,  and  whipped  and  worried  and 
drove.  I've  no  more  notion  where  I  was  horn  than  you  have — if 
so  much.  1  iirsl  became  aware  of  myself,  down  in  Essex,  a  thiev- 
ing turnips  for  my  living.  Summun  had  run  away  from  me — a 
man — n.  tinker — and  he'd  took  the  fire  with  him,  and  left  me  very 
. 

"  I  know'd  my  name  to  he  Magwitch,  christen'd  Abel.  How 
did  I  know  it  I  Much  as  1  know'd  the  hirds"names  in  the  hedg- 
es to  he  chaffinch,  sparret,  thrush.  I  might  have  thought  it  was 
all  lies  together,  only  as  the  lords'  names  come  out  true,  I  supposed 
mine  did. 

■•  So  fur  as  I  could  find,  there  wam't  a  soul  that  see  young  Abel 
Magwiteh,  with  as  little  on  him  as  iir  him,  hut  what  caught  fright 
ai  htm,  and  either  drove  him  off  or  Mok  .him  up.  I  was  took  up, 
took  up,  took  up,  to  that  extent  that  I  reg'larly  grow'd  up  took 
up. 


me  great  expectations. 

"  This  is  the  way  it  was,  that  when  T  was  a  ragged  little  cree- 
tur  as  much  to  he  pitied  as  ever  I  see  (not  that  1  looked  in  the 
glass,  for  there  warn't  many  insides  of  houses  known  to  me),  1  got 
the  name  of  heing  hardened.  '  This  is  a  terrible  hardened  one,' 
they  mys  to  prison  wisitors,  picking  out.  inc.  '  May  bo  said  to  live 
in  jails,  this  boy.'  Then  they  looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at  thorn, 
and  they  measured  my  head,  some  on  'em— 1  hey  had  better  a  meas- 
ured my  stomach — and  others  on  'em  giv  me  Tracts  what  1  couldn't 
read,  and  made  me  speeches  what  I  couldn't  unnerstand.  They 
always  went  on  agen  me  about  the  Devi],  But  what  the  Devil  was 
I  to" do?  I  must  put  something  into  my  stomaeh.  mustn't  J  ?-— 
Howsomever,  I'm  a  getting  low,  and  1  know  what's  due.  Dear 
boy,  and  Pip's  comrade,  don't  you  be  afeerd  of -me  being  low. 

"Tramping,  begging,  thieving,  working  sometimes  when  I  could — 
though  that  warn't  as  often  as  you  may  think,  till  you  put  the 
question  whether  you  would  ha1  been  over  ready  to  give  me  work 
yourselves — a  hit  of  a  poacher,  a  bit  of  a  laborer,  a  bit  of  a  wag- 
oner, a  bit  of  a  haymaker,  a  bit  of  a  hawker,  a  bit  of  most  things 
that  don't  pay  and  lead  to  trouble,  I  got  to  be  a  man.  A  desert- 
ing soldier  in  a  Traveler's  Rest,  what  lay  hid  up  to  the  chin  under 
a  lot  of  Tatars,  learnt  me  to  read;  and  a  traveling  Dwarf  what 
signed  his  name  at  a  penny  a  time  learnt  me  to  write.  I  warn't 
locked  up  as  often  now  as  formerly,  but  I  wore  out  my  share  of 
key  metal  still. 

,  ".At  Epsom  races,  a  matter  of  twenty  years  ago,  I  got  ac- 
quainted wi'  a  man  whose  skull  I'd  crack  wi'  This  poker  like  the 
claw  of  a  lobster,  if  I'd  go1  it  on  this  hob.  His  right  name  was 
Compey  ;  and  1  hat's  the  man,  dear  biy,  what  you  see  me  pound- 
ing in  the  ditch,  according  to  wot'you  truly  told  your  comrade  ar- 
ter  I  was  gone  last  night. 

"  He  set  up  fur  a  genlleman,  this  Compey,  and  he'd  been  to  a 
public  boarding-school  and  had  learning.  He  was  a  smooth  one 
to  talk",  and  was  a  dab  at  the  ways  of  <_renTleiblks.  He  was  good-  t 
looking  too.  It  was  the  night  afore  the  great  race  when  I  found 
him  on  the  heath,  in  a  booth  that  1  know'd  on.  Him  and  some 
more  were  sitting  among  the  tables  when  I  went  in,  and  the  land- 
lord (which  had  a  knowledge  of  me,  and  was  a  sporting  one)  called 
him  out  and  said,  'I  think  this  is  a  man  that  might  suit  you  ' — 
meaning  I  was. 

"  "  Compey,  he  looks  at  me  very  noticing,  and  I  look  at  him.  He 
has  a  watch  and  a  chain  and  a  ring  and  a  breast-pin  and  a  hand- 
some suit,  of  clothes. 

"  '  To  judge  from  appearances,  you're  out  of  luck,'  says  Compey 
to  me. 

'"Yes,  master,  and  I've  neVer  been  in  il  much.'  (I  come  out  of 
Kingston  Jail  last,  on  a  vagrancy  committal.  Not  but  what  it 
might  have  been  for  something  else;  but  it  warn't.) 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  277 

"'Luck  changes,'  says  Compey  ;  'perhaps  yours  is  going-  to 
change.' 

"  I  says,  '  I  hope  it  may  be  so.    there's  room/ 

"  '  What  can  yon  Jo?' 

'•"'Eat  and  drink,'  I  Bays ;  'if  you'll  find  I  ;;ds.' 

"Compey  laughed,  looked  ad  me  again  very  noticing,  givmetive 
sfiirring.s,  and  appointed   me  for  next  night.     Same  place, 

I  went  to  Compey  next  night,  same  place,  and  ( 'ompey  took  me 
on  to  he  his  man-  and  panhier.  And  what  was  ( 'ompey 's  business  in 
which  wo  was  to  go  pardnors  '.  Compey's  business  was  the  swind- 
ling, handwriting  forging,  stolen  bank-not^  passing,  and  suoh  like. 
All  sorts  of  traps  as  (.'ompey  could  set  with  his  head,  and  keep  his 
own  legs  oni  of  and  get  the  prolits  from  and  lei  another  man  in 
for,  was  Compey's  business.  He'd  no  more  heart  than  a  iron  tile, 
he  w  is  as  cold  as  death,  and  had  the  head  of  the  Devil  .ai'ore  men- 
tioned. 

"  There  was  another  in  with  .('ompey  as  was  ended  Arthur — not. 
as  being  so  christ  -n'd,  but  as  a  surname.  He  was  in  a  decline,  and 
was  a  shadow  to  look  at.  Him  and  Compey  had  been  in  a  bad 
thing  with  a  rich  lady  some  years  afore,  and  they'd  made  a  pot  of 
mimey  by  it;  but,  Compey  betted  and  gamed,  and  he'd  have  run 
through  the  king's  taxes.  So  Yrihur  was  a  dying,  and  a  dying 
poor  and  with  the  horrors  on  him,  and  Compey 's  wife  (which  Com- 
pey kicked  mostly)  was  a  having  pity  on  him  when  she  could,  and 
>oy  was  a  having  pity  on  nothing  and  nobody. 

"  I  might  a  took  warning  by  Arthur,  but  I  didn't;  and  I  won't 
pretend  1  whs  partioler — for  where  hid  be  the  good  on  it.  dear 
boy  and  comrade?  So  I  begun  wi'  ('ompey,  and  a  poor  tool  1 
was  in  his  hands.  Arthur  lived  at  the  top  of  Compey's  house 
(over  nigh  Brentford  it  was),  and  Compey  kepi  a  careful  account 
him  for  board  and  lodging,  in  case  he  should  ever  get  belter 
io  work  it  out.  But  Arthur  soon  settled  the  account.  The  sec- 
ond or  third  time  as  ever  I  see  him,  he  come  a  tearing  down  into 
Compey's  parlor  late  at  night,  in  only  a  Manuel  gown,  with  his  hair 
all  in  a  sweat,  ami  he  says  to  Comp"y's  wife,  '  Sally,  she  really  is 
up  stairs  alonger  me  now,  and  I  can'!  ge!  rid  of  her.  She's  all  in 
white,'  he  says.  '  wi'  white  Mowers  in  her  hair,  and  she's  awful  mad, 
and  she's  got  a  white  shroud  hanging  over  her  arm,  and  she  says 
she'll  put  it  on  me  at   live  in  the  morning. 

-  tys  Compey  !  '  Why.  you  fool,  don't  you  know  she's  got  a 
living  body  I  And  how  should  she  be  up  there,  without  coming 
through  the  door,  or  in  at  the  window,  and  up  the.  stairs?' 

"  '  1  don't  know  how  she's  there,'  -ays  Arthur,  shivering  dread- 
ful with  the  horrors,,  'but  sl^j's  standing  in  the  corner  at  the  toot, 
of  the  bed.  awful  mad.  And  over  where  her  heart's  broke — you 
broke  it — there's  drops  of  blood.' 

"  Compey  spoke  hardy,  but  he  was  always  a  coward.     '  Co  up 


278  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

alonger  tin's  driveling  sick  man,'  he  says  to  his  wife,  'and  Mag- 
witch,  lend  her  a  hand,  will  you  V  But  he  never  come  nigh  him- 
self. 

"  Compey's  wife  and  me  took  him  up  to  bed  agen,  and  he  raved 
most  dreadful.  'Why  look  at  her!'  he  cries  out.  'She's  t 
shaking  the  shroud  at  me  !  Don't  you  see  lier  ?  Look  at  her 
eyes  !  Ain't  it  awful  to  see  her  so  mad  V  Next  he  cries,  '  She'll 
put  if  on  me,  and  then  I'm  dor.e  for  !  Take  it  away  from  her, 
take  it  away  !'  And  then  he  eatched  hold  of  us,  and  kep  on  a 
lalkjng  to  her,  and  answering  of  her,  till  I  half  believed  I  see  her 
myself,,,. 

"  Compey's  wife,  being  used  to  hjm.  giv  him  some  liquor  to  g'jt 
the  horrors  off,  and  by-and-by  he  quieted.  '  Oh,  she's  gone  !  Bias 
tier  keeper  been  for  her?'  'he  say.  'Yes,'  says  Compey's  wife. 
'  Did  you  tell  him  to  lock  her  and  bar  her  in  V  '  Yes.'  '  And  to 
■hat  ugly  thing  away  from  her  V  '  Yes,  yes,  all  rig'it.'  'You're 
a  good  creetur,'  he  says;  '  don't  leave  me,  whatever  you  do,  and 
thank  you  !' 

"He  rested  pretty  quiet  till  it  might  want  a  few  minutes  of' 
five,  and  then  he  starts  up  with  a  scream,  and  screams  out,  '  Here 
she  is!  file's  got  the  shroud  again.  She's  unfolding  it.  She's 
ing  out  of  the  corner.  She's  coming  to  the  bed.  Hold  me 
both  on  you — one  of  each  side — don't  Jet  her  touch  me  with  it. 
Hah  !  she  missed  me  that  time.  Don't  let  her  throw  it  over  my 
shoulders.  Don't  let  her  bit  me  uptogei  it  round  me.  She's 
6  up.  Keep  me  down!'  Then  he  lifted  hiiii.-elf  up  hard, 
and  was  dead. 

"  Compey  took  it  easy  enough  as  a  good  riddance  for  both  sides. 
Him  and  .me  was  soon  busy,  and  first  he  swore  me  (heing  ever 
artful)  on  tny.  own  book — this  here  little  black,  book,  dear  boy, 
what  I  swore  your  comrade  on. 

"Not  to  go  into  the  things  that  Compey  planned  and  1  none — 
which  'ud  take  a  week — I'll  simply  say  to  you,  dear  boy.  and  Pip's 
comrade,  that  that  man  got  me  inlo  such  nets  as  made  me  ids 
black  slave.  1  was  always  in  debt  to  bim,  always  under  his  thumb, 
always  a  working,  always  a  getting  into  danger.  He  was  younger 
than  me,  but  he'd  got  craft,  and  he'd  got  learning,  and  he  over- 
matched me  five  hundred  times  told  and  n-o  mercy.  My  Missis  as 
I  had  the  hard  time  wi' — Stop  though!     I  ain't  brought  her  in — " 

He  looked  about  him  in  a  confused  way,  as  if  he  jhad  lost  his 
place  in  the  boot  of  his  remembrance;  and  he  turned  his  face  to 
the  fire,  and  spread  his 'hands  broader  on  his  knees,  and  lifted  them 
off  and  put  them  on  again. 

"  There  ain't  no  need  to  go  into  j£,"  he  said,  when  he  looked 
round  once  more.  .  "  Th.-  time  wi'  Compey  was  a' most  as  hard  a 
time  as  ever  I  had ;  that  said,  all's  said.  Did  I  tell  you  as  1  was 
tried,  alone,  for  misdemeanor,  while  with  Compey  ?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  279 

T  answered,  No. 

"  Well  !"  he  said,  "  T  was,  and  got  convicted.     As  to  took  op 
on  suspicion,  that  was  twice  or  three  times  in  the  four  or  five 
thai  ii  lasted;    hut  evidence  was  walftirig.     At  last  me  and  Com- 
]»ey  was  both  committed  for  felony — o  e  of  putting  stolen 

no'ics  in  circulation — and  there  was  oilier  feharg**  behind.     Cortl- 
•ivstonn',  '  Separate  defences,  no   communication/  and  that 
all.     And    I   was  so  miserable  poor  that  1  sold  all  the  clothes 
I  had,  except  what-  hung  on  my  '  "  1  could.ajet  Jaggers. 

"  When  w>'  \v.,s  ioit  in  the  dock,  1  noticed  firsl  of  all  what  a 
gentleman  Co*ftpey -looked,  wi'  his  curly  hair  and  his  black  clothes 
and  his  white  poVk?t-hari  ikerchief,  and  what  a  common  sort  of 
wretch  I  looked.  When  t he  prosecution  opened  and  the  evid 
was  put  short,  aforehand,  I  noticed  how  heavy  it  all  bore  on  me, 
and  how  light  on  him.  .  When  the  evideice  wis  giv'  in  the  box,  I 
lioriced  Imw  it  was  always  me  that  had  come  for'ard.  and  could  be 
swore  to.  how  it-  was  always  me  that  the  money  had  beef)  paid  to, 
how  it  was  always  me  that  had  seemed  to  work  the  tliinir  and  gel 
the  profit.  Knt,  when  the  fl*fen«ce  come  on.  then  I  see  the  plan 
plainer;   '■'  -lor'  tor  Compey,  '  My  lord  and  gentle- 

here  you   hav-  bu,  side  by  side,  two  persons  as  your 

ate  wide  ;■  one,  the  younger,  well   brought  up,  who 
,vill  b  i«  lite  elder,  fll   brought  up,  who  wud 

lie  spoke  !;>  as  a  hardened  offender;   one,  the  younger,  seldom  if 

only  suspected  ;    f other, 
lie   elder,  always   seen    in    'em    and   always  wi'  his  guilt   brought 
home,     i 'an  you  doubt,  if  there  is  but  one  in  it,  which  is  the  one. 
and,  if  there   is   two  in   it,  which   is  much  the  worst  oneV     And 
such  like.     Ami  wlcn  il  character,  warn't  it  Compey  as 

and  warfPt.  it  his  school-fellows  as  was  in  this 
position  and  in  that,  and  warn't  it  him  as  had  been  know'd  by  wit- 

rlulis  and  Societies,  ami  nowt  to  ids  disadvam 
And  warn'i  il  me  as  had  and  as  had  been  know'd 

up  hill  and  down  dale  in   Bridewells  and   Lock-Ups  j     And   9 

Hi-making.  warn't  it  Compey  as  could  speak  to  'em 
to  face   dropping  every  now  and  then   into  his  white  pocket - 
handkercher — ah  !  and  wi'  verses  in  1,  .  too — and  warn 

S  could  only  say.  '  <  Jentlemen,  this  man  at  my  side  is  a  most 
precious  rascal  V  And  when  the  verdict  come,  warn't  it.  Compo.y 
as  was  recommended  to  mercy  on  account  of  good  character  and 
bad  company,  and  giving  up  all  tlie  information  lie  could  agen  me. 
and  warn't  it  me  as  got  never  ft  word  but  Guilty?  And  when  I 
to  Compey,  'Once  out  of  this  court,  I'll  smash  that  face  of 
yourn  V  ain't  It  Compey  as  prays  the  . fudge  to  be  protected,  and 
two  turnkeys  stood  betwixt  us  I  And  when  we're  sentenced, 
ain't  it  him  as  u  years  and  me  fourteen,  and  ain't  it  liim 

as  the  Judge  is  sorry  for.  because  he  might  a  done  so  well,  amd 


260  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ain't  it  me  as  the  Judge  perceives  to  be  a  man  of  wiolent  passions, 
likely  to  come  to  worse  I" 

He  had  worked  himself  into  a  state  of  great  excitement,  hut  he 
checked  it,  took  two  or  three- short  breaths,  swallowed  as  often, 
and  stretching  out  his  hand  toward  me  said,  in  a  reassuring  man- 
ner, "  I ( ain't  a  going  to  be  low,  dear  boy  V 

He  i  sated  himself  that  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 

wiped  his  ''ace  and  head  and  neck  and  hands,  before  he  could 

go  Oil. 

"'i  had  sjjftil  to  Compey  that  I'd  smash  that  face  ot  his,  and  I 
swoii  uishmiiie!    to  do  it.     We  was  in  the  same  prison- 

ship,  bin  I   couldn't  get  at  him,   for   long,    though    1    tried.    At 
:  come  behind  him  and' hit  him  on  the  cheek  ro  turn  him  round 
and  get  a  smashing  one  at  him,  when  I  was  seen  and  seized.    The 
that  ship  warn't  a  strong  one,  to  a  judge  of  black- 
holes  that  could  swim  and  dive.     I  escaped  to  jhe  shore,  and  I 
:  hiding  among  the  graves  there,  envying  them  as  was  in  'em 
and  all  over,  when  first  I  see  my  buy  !"' 

lie  regarded  me, with  a  look  of  affection  that  made  him  almost 
abhorrent  lo  me  again,  though  I  had  felt  great  pity  for  him. 

"  By  my  i*>y  I  was  giv  to  understand  as  Comply  was  out. on 
them  marshes  too.  Upon  my  soul,  I  half  believe  n,  escaped  in 
his  terror  to  get  tpiit  of  me,  not  knowing  it  was  me,  as  had  got 
ashore.  J  hunted  him  down.  1  smashed  his  face.  '  And  now,' 
says  I.  'as  the  worst  thing  I  can  do,  caring  nothing  lor  m 
I'll  drag  you  back.'  And  I'd  have  swum  ofi',  iowi);:u  him  by 
hair,  if  it  had  come  to  that,  and  I'd  a  got  him  aboard  without  the 
soldiers. 

"  Of  course  he'd  much  the  best  of  it  to  the  last — bis  character 
was  so  good.     He  had  escaped  when  he  was  made  hair  wild  by  me 
and  my  murderous  intentions  ;  and  his  punishment  was  light.     I  , 
was  [iut  in  irons,  brought  to  trial  again,  and  sent  for  life,    i  didn't 
slop  for  life,  (icar  boy  and  Pip's  comrade,  being  here." 

He  wiped  himself  again,  as  he  had  done  before,  and  then  slowly 
took  his  tangle  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket,  and  plucked  his  pipe 
from  his  button-hole,  and  slowly  tilled  it,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  I  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"  Is  who  dead,  dear  boy  '.'" 

.••Compey." 

"He  hopes  1  am,  if  he's  alive,  you  may  be  sure,"  with  a  tierce 
look.     A  I  never  heerd  no,  more  of  him.v 

Herbert  had  been  writing  with  his  pencil  in  the  cover  of  a  book. 
He  softly  pushed  the  book  over  to  me,  as  Provis  stood  smoking 
with  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  I  read  in  it: 

"Young  Havisham's  name  was  Arthur.  Compey  is  the  man 
who  professed  to  be  Miss  Havisham's  lover." 


GJJEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  2*1 

I  shut  ijic  hafrk  and  nodded  slightly  to  Herbert,  and  pur  the 
book  by;  kill  we  neither  of  us  said  anything,  and  both  looked  at 
1'rovis  as  lie  stood  suiokin  ■  tire. 


CHATTER   XETII. 

houkl  i  pause  lo  ask  how  inocfa  *f  my  shrinking  from 
1'rovis  might  Ire  traced  to  Estella  '.  Why  should  I  loiter  on  my 
road,  v   the  state  of  mind  in  which   I  had  tried  to  rid 

my  sen  &he  prison  before  meeting  her  al  thecoaeh- 

olliee,  with  the  state  of  mind  in 'which  i  now  retU'cted  on  the  abyss 
between  Esiclla,  in  her  pride  and  beauty,  and  the  Retained  trans- 
port whom  1  harbored  I  The  road  would,  be  none  the  smoother 
lor  it  ;  the  end  would  be  none  the  better-  tor  it  :  lie  would  nut  be 
helped,  nor  1  extenuated. 

pew  fear  had  been  engendered  in  my  mind  by  this  Narrative  ; 
or,  rather,  his  narrative  had  given  form  and  purpose  to  the  fear 
thai  was  already  there.      If  Compey  were  alive  and  should  disoov- 

is  return,  I  could  hardly  doubt  the  "consequence.     That  I 

pej  stood  in  morial   fear  of  him,  neither   of  the   two   could  know 

much  better  than  I  ;   and  that  any  such  man  as  that  man  had  been 

.ihed   to  be  would   hesitate  to  release  himself  for  good   from  a 

nemy,  by  the   sale  means  of  heeoming  an  informer,   was 

scarce!;,   to  he  imagined. 

.cr  had    i    breathed,  and   never  would    1   breathe — or  so  1  re- 
solved— a  word  of  Estella  to  1'rovis.     But  1  said  to  Herbert  thai, 
before  I  could,  go  abroad,  I   must  see  both  Estella  and   Miss  : 
isham.     This  was  when  we  were  left  alone  on  the  night  of  tin 
when  Pravijj  told  us  his  story.     1  resolved  to  go  out  to  Richmond 
next  day.  and  1  went. 

On  my  presenting  myself  at  Mrs.  Brandley's,  Estclla's  maid  was 
called  to  tell  me  that  Estella  bad  gpone  into  the  country.  Where? 
To  Satis  House,  as  usual.  Not  as  usual,  I  said,  for  she  had  never 
yet,  gone  there  without  me  ;  when  coining  back?     There 

, mi  air  of  reservation  in  the  answer   which   increased    my   per- 
plexity, and  the  answer  was  that   her  maid    believed  she  was  only 
coming  back  at  all   for  a  little  while.       1    could  make  not ii; 
this,  except  that  it.  was  meant    that   1  should  make  nothing  of  it, 
and    1  went  home  again  in  complete  diseomliture. 


283  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

Another  night  consultation  with  Herbert  after  Provis- had  gone 
home  (I  always  took  him  honie,  and  always  looked  well  "about  rae), 
led  us  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing  should  fee  said  about  going 
abroad  until  I  came  back  from  Miss  Havisham's.  In  the  mean 
rime,  Herbert  and  I  were  to  consider  separately  what  it  would  be 
best  to  say — whether  we  should  devise  'any  pretense  of  being  afraid 
that  he  was  u\uWr  suspicious  observation  ;  or  whether  I,  wdio  had 
never  yet  been  abroad,  should  propose  an  expedition.  We  both 
knew. that  I  had  but  to  propose  anything,  and  he  would  consent. 
We  agreed  that  his  remaining  many  days  in  his  present  hazard  was 
not  to  be  thought  of.    - 

Next  day  1  had  the  meanness  to  feign  that,  I  was  under  a  binding 
promise  to  go  down  to  Joe  ;  but  I  was  capable  of  almost  any  mean- 
ness toward  Joe  or  his  name.  Provis  was  to  be  strictly  careful 
while  1  was  gone,  and  Herbert  was  to  take  the  charge,  of  him  that 
I  had  taken.  1  was  U>  he  absent  only  one  night,  and,  on  my  re- 
turn, the  gratihVati  m  of  his  impatience  for  my  starting  as  a  gentle- 
man on  a  greater  scale  was  to  be  begum.  It  occurred  to  me  then — 
and  as  i  afterward  'found  to  He.be'it  also — that  he  might  be  best 
got  away  across  the  water  on  that"  pretense — as,  to  make  purchas- 
es, or  the   uke. 

Having  thus  cleared  the  way  for  my  expedition  to  -Miss  Havi- 
sham's, 1  set  off  by  the  early  morning  coach  before  it  was  yet  light. 
and  was  out  on  the  open  country-road  when  the  day  came  creeping 
on,  halting  and  whimpering  ami  shivering,  and,  \vrapped  in  patches 
of  cloud  and  rags  of  mist,  like  a  beggar.  When  we  drove  up  to 
the  Blue  Boar  after  a  drizzly  ride,  whom  should  I  see  come  out  un- 
der 'he  gateway,  oothpick  in  'hand,  to  look  at -the  coach,  but  Bent- 
ley  Drtunmle  ! 

As  he  pretended  not  to  see  me,  I  pretended  not  to  see  him.  It 
was  u  very  lame  prelcn:  I  h    sides;  the   lamer,  because  we 

both  went  inti  --room,  where  he, had  just  finished  his  break- 

fast ami  where  I  ordered  mine.     It  was  poisonous  to  me  to  see  him 
in  the  town,  for  I  very  well  knew  why  he,  had  come  tin-re. 

Pretending  to  read  a  smeary  newspaper  long  out  of  date,  which 
had  nothing  half  so  legible  in  its  local  news  as  the  foreign  matter 
of  coffee,  pickles,  tish,  sauces,  gravy,  melted  'butter,  and  wine,  with 
which  it  was  sprinkled  all  over,  as  if  it  had  taken  the  measles  in  a 
highly  irregular  form,  1  sat  at  my  table  while  he  stood  before  t  .e 
fire.  By  degrees  it  became  an  enormous  injury  to  me  that  he  stood. 
before  the  tire,  and  I  got  up,  determined  to  have  my  share  of  it. 
I  had  to  put  my  hand  behind  his  legs  for  the  poker  when  I  went 
up  to  the  hre-place  to  stir  the  tire,  but  still  pretended  not  to  know 
him.  .  * 

"  Is  this  a  cut  ?  "  said  Mr.  Drummle. 

"  Ob  !"  said  i,  poker  in  hand,  "it's  you,  is  it?     How  do 
do  ?     I  was  wondering  who  it,  was  who  kept  the  fire  off." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  2!» 

With  Wmt,  T  poked  tremendously,  and  having  jk|fc|fi,  planted 
myself  side  by  side  with  Mr.  Drummle,  my  shotiNvffMfefrdd  and 
k  to  the  life.  **S  • 

"  You  have  just  comedown  j "  said  Mr.  Drummle,  edging  me  a 
little  away  with  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  said    1,  fjdging  him  a  little  away  with  my  shoulder. 

'■  Beastly  place,"  said  Drummle.     ?  Your  part  or  the  country,   1 
think  ?"  » 

"  i  ,  -sented.     "  I  am  told   it's  very  like  Shropshire." 

"  Not  in  the  least  like  it."  said  Drummle. 

Here  Mr."  Drumnde  looked  at  his  boots,  and   1   looked  at    ffrine  ; 
andit.hen  Mr.  Drummle  looked  a!  my  hoots,  and   1   looked  at  his. 

"  llave  you  been  here  long  .'"  1  asked  determined  not  to  yield  an 
inch  01  the  fire. 


Lonii'  eiiouji'h  to  he  tired  of  it,"  returned  Drummle,  pretending 
liialiy  determined. 
.   here  long  ?" 
"( 'an't  .say."  answered  Mr.  Drummle.     "  Do  you  V 
"  Quil'l  say.'   said   I. 

I  felt  here,  through    a  tingling  in  try  blood,  that  if  Mr.  Drum- 

mle's  shoulder  liad  claimed  aiioiher  hair'sdtreadlh  of  room,  1  should 

have  jerked   him  into  the  window;  equally,  that  if  my  own  shoiil- 

,d  ufged  a  similar  claim,  Mr.  Drummle  would  have  jerked 

me  into  the  nearest  hox.      lie  whistled  a  little.      So  did    I. 

"Large  tract    of  marshes   about    here,  1   helieve  !  '  said  Drum- 
mle. 

"les.     Whal  "  said   I. 

Mr.  Drummle  looked  at  me.  ami  then  at  my  hoots,  and  then  said, 

Lnt]  laughed. 
"  Are  you  an  u  el,  Mr.  Drummle  ?" 

"  \..,"  said   he,  "  not   particularly.     I  am  gomg  out    for  a 
in  the  .-addle.      I  mean  to  explore  those  marsln  i-  iscnieiit. — 

Out-of-the-way  villages  there,  they  tell    me.     Curious   little  public 
ses — and  smithies — and  that.     Waiter  !  " 

■  s,  Sir." 
"  Is  that  horse  of      ine  ready  '." 

ht  round  to  the  door.  Sir." 
'•  1  say.      took  here,  you,  so-.     Tin-  lady  won't  ride  to-day  ;   the 
weather  won't  do." 

ry  good,  sir." 
•    "And  1  don't  dine,  because  I'm  going  to  dine  at  the  lady's." 
"  Very  l 

Then  Drummle  glance  with  an  insolent  triumph  on  his 

gre&t-jowled  face  ihat  cut  me  to  the  heart,  dull  as  he  was,  and  80 
exasperated   m  felt  inclined  to  take  him  in  my  arms  as  the 

robber  in  the  story-hook  is  .said  to  have  taken  the  old  lady,  and 
seat  him  .on  the  fire. 


'>  34  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

One  thing,  was  manifest  to  both  of  us,  and  that  was,  that  until 
relief  came  neither  of  us  could  relinquish  ihefire.  There  we  stood, 
well  squared  up  b-  fore  it,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  loot  to  foot, 
with  our  hands  behind  us,  not  budging  an  inch.  The  horse  was 
visible  outside  i  .  the  drizzle  at  the  door,  my  breakfast  was  put  on 
the  table,  Druinmle's  was  cleared  away,  the  waiter  invited  me  to 
begin,  I  nodded,  we  both  stood  our  ground. 

"  Have  you  been  to  thj  Grove  sine!?"  said  Drummle. 

"  No,"  said  1,  "  I  had  quite  enough  of  the  Finches  the  last  time 
I  was  there." 

"  Was  i  hat  wheti  we  had  a  difference  of  opin/ioh  ?" 

"Yes,"   1  replied,  very  shortly. 

"Come,  come!  They  k-vf  you  off  easily  enough,"  sneered 
Drummle.     "You  shouldn't  .'nave  lost  your  temper." 

"Mr.  Drummle,"  said  I,  ""you  are  not  competent,  to  give  ad- 
vice on  that  subject.  When  I  lose  my  temper  (not  that  I  admit 
having  done  so  on  that  occasion)  1  don't  throw  glasses.'' 

"  I  do,"  said  Drummle. 

After  glancing  at  him  once 'qV  twice  in  an  increased  state  of 
smouldering  ferocity,  I  said  : 

"Mr.  Drummle,  I  did  not  seek  this  conversation,  and  I  don't 
think  it  ;m  ajgreeab  e  one." 

"  1  am  sure  it's  not,  '  said  he,  superciliously,  over  his  shoulder  ; 
"  I  don't,  think  any  thing  about  it," 

"And  therefore,"  1  went  on,  "with  your  leave,  I  will  suggest 
that  we  hold  no  kind  of  conversation  in  future." 

"Quite  my  opinion,"  said  Drivmmle,  "and  what  I  should  have 
suggested  myself,  or  done — more  likely — without  suggesting. 
But,  don't  lose  your  temper.  Haven't  you  lost  enough  without, 
that  ?" 

■'  What  do  you  mean.  Sir  ?" 

"  Wai-ler!"  said  Drummle,  by  way  of  answering  me. 

The  waiter  reappeared. 

"Look  here,  you  Sir.  You  quite  understand  that  the  young 
lady  don't  ride  to-day,  and  that  1  dine  at  the  young  lady's?" 

"Quite  so,  Sir." 

When  the  waiter  had  felt  m\  fast-cooling  tea-pot  with  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  and  had  looked  imploringly  at  me,  and  had  gone  out, 
Drummle,  careful  not  to  move  the  shoulder  next  me.  took  a  cigar 
from  his  pocket  and  bit  the  end  off,  but  showed  no  sign  of  stirring. 
Choking  and  boiling  as  I  was,  I  felt  that  we  could  not  go  a  word 
further  without  introducing  Estella's  name,  which  I  could  not  en- 
dure to  hear  him  utter;  and  therefore  1  looked  stonily  at  the  op- 
posite wall,  as  it  there  were  no  one  present,  and  forced  myself  to 
silence.  H«w  long  we  might  have  remained  in  this  ridiculous 
position  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  for  the  iucursion  of  three 
thriving,  farmers — laid  on  by  the  waiter,  I  am  inclined  to  think— 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  W5 

who  .came  into  the  coffee-room  awbottoning  their  great  coats  and 
rubbing  their  hands,  and  before  whom,  as  they  charged  at  the 
tire,  we  were  obliged  to  give  way. 

I  saw  him  through  the  window,  seizing  his  horse's  mane,  and 
mounting  in  his  hlundoring  hrutal  foamier,  and  sidling  and  hack 
Wig  away.  I  thought  he  was  gone  when  he  came  hack,  <  ailing  for 
a  light  for  the  cigar  in  his  mouth,  which  he  had  forgotten.  A 
man  in  a  dust-colored  dress  appeared. with  what  was  wanted — i 
could  not  have  said  from  wl  ere:  whether  trom  the  inn  yard,  or 
ihe  street,  or  where  not  — and  as  l»rumn  le  leaned  down  from  the 
saddle  and  lighted  his  cigar  and  laughed,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head 
toward  the  coffee-roona  windows,  the  slouching  shoulders  and  rag- 
ged' Ifair  of  this  man.  whose  hack  was  tow  aid  inc.  reminded  me  of 
( )rlick. 

Too  heavily  out  of  sorts  to  care  much  at  The  time  whether  it 
Were  lie  or  not.  or  after  al!  to  touch  the  breakfast.  I  washed  the 
weatheraud  the  jminie\  from  ny  face  and  hands,  and  Weill  out  to 
the  11 1  e  in  or  aide  <jld  house  that  it  would  have  heen  so  much  the 
better  for  me  never  to  have  entered,  never  to  have  seen. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


In  the  room  where  the  dressing-tal^e  stood  and  where  the  wax- 
lies  hurtied  on  the  wall.  1  found  Miss  Havisham  ami  Ksiella  ; 
Miss  Havisham  sealed  on  a  settee  near  the  tire,  and  Eslela  on  a 
cushion  at  her  fret.  Estella  was  kninii  g.  atld  Miss  Havisham 
was  lookit  g  on.  Tl  v\  belli  raised  their" eyes  as  1  went  in,  and 
both  saw  an  alteration  in  me.  I  derived  that  from  the  look  hey 
interchanged! 

'  nd   what   wind."  said   Miss    Havisham.    "  blows   vou   here. 
Pip  V 

Though  she  looked  steaPdity  at  me  I  saw-  she  was  rather  con- 
fused. Estella  pausing  for  a  moment  in  her  knitting  with  her  c\  es 
Upon  me.  and  then  going  on,  I  fancied  that  1  read  in  the  action  of 
her  fit  gers  as  phai)i!\  a-  it  si  e  1  ad  iold  me  in  the  dumb  alphabet, 
that  she  perceived  1  had  dirfcovere^j  nfy  real  benefactor. 

".Miss  IJa\b-hain."  said  I,  "  1  went  to  Richmond  yesterday  to 
speak  to  Estella,  and  finding  thai  some  wind  had  blown  her  here. 
1  followed." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

avishara  motioning  to  me  for  Ihe  third  or  fourth  time  to 
sit  down:,  1  look  the  chair  by  the  dressing-table  which  I  had  often 
seen  her  i  With  all  that  ruin  at  my  fee*  and  about  me,  it 

seemed  a  natural  place  for  me  t hat  day. 

"  What  1   had  to  say  to  Kstella,  Miss  Havisham,  T  will  say  be- 
;nly — in  a  lew   moments.     It  will  not  surprise  you, 
ii  will  not  displease  you.     1  am  as  unhappy  as  you  can  ever  have 
meant  me  to  be."' 

Miss  lla\isliam  continued  to  look  steadily  at  me.  I  could  see 
in  the  action  of  Eslella's  lingers  as  they  worked  that  she  attended 
lo  what  I  saiil,  but  ...she  did  not  look  lip, 

"  1    have  found  out,  who  my  patron  is.     It  is  not  a  fortunate 
very,  and  is  riot  likely  ever,  to  enrich  me  in  reputation,  station, 
fortune,,  any  thing.     There  are  reasons  why  1  must  say  no  more  or 
lhat.-    It  is  not  my  secret,  but  another's." 

'As  1  was  silent  for  a  while,  looking  at.  Estella  and  considering 
how  to  go  on,  Miss  Havisham  repeated.  "  It  is  not  your  secret,  but 
another's.     Well  :'" 

"  When  you  first  caused  me  to  be  brought  here.  Miss  Havisham; 
when   I  belonged   to  the  village  over  yonder  that   I  "wish  I  had 
never  left;  I  suppose  I  did  ideally  come  here  as  any  other  chance 
boy  .might  have  come — as  a  kind  of  servant, to*  gratify  a  want  oyfc- 
whim,  and  to  be  paid'ibr  it?"  u  ^' 

"Ay,  Pip,"  replied  Miss  Havisham,  steadily  nodding*her  head  ; 
"  you  did." 

'•  And  that  Mr.  Jaggers — " 

"Mr.  daggers,"  said  Miss  Havisham,  faking  me  up  in  a  firm 
tone,  "  bad  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  knew  nothing  of  it.  His. 
being  my  lawyer,  and  his  being  the  lawyer  of  your  patron,  is  a 
coincidence.  He  holds  the  same' relation  toward  numbers  of  peo- 
ple, and  it  might  easily  arise.  Be  tliat  as  it  may,  it  did  arise,  and 
was  not  brought  about  by  any  one."  i 

Any  one  might  have  seen  in  her  haggard  face  that  there  was  no 
suppression  or  evasion  so  far. 

"But  when  1  fell  into  the  mistake  I  have  so  long  remained  in, 
at  least  you'  led   me  on  ?"  said  I.. 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  again  nodding  steadily,  "  I  let  yoo  go  on." 

"Was  that,  kind?" 

"  Who  am  I,"  cried  Miss  Havisham,  striking  her  stick  upon  the 
floor  and  Hashing  into  wrath  so  suddenly  that  Kstella  glanced  up 
at  her  in  surprise,  "  whom  am  1,  for  God's  sake,  that  I  should  be 
kind  !" 

It,  was  a  weak  complaint  to  have  made,  and  I  had  not  meant  to 
make  it.     1  told  her  so,  as  she  sat  brooding  after  this  outburst. 

"  Well,  well,  well !;'  she  said.     "  What  else  ?"      i 

"  I  was  liberally  paid  for  my  old  attendance  here."  said  I,  to 
soothe  her,  "  in   being  apprenticed,  and  I  have  asked,  these  ujies- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  287 

tions  only  for  my  o\sn  information.     Wbal    follows  lias   another 
(and   1   no  e  iimrr  disinterested)  purpose.     In   ■umoring  my  mis- 
.  Miss  Ilavisham,  you  punished — practiced   on  —  perhaps  you 
will    supply  whatever   t«jm   expresses  yift  n.  without  of- 

fence— your  self-seeking  relations  ?" 

••  !  .::;."  ::  :<i  she.     ••  Why,  they  would  I  :     So  would 

What  has  been  my  history,  that  1  should  he  al   the  pains  of 
entreating  cither  them  or  voir  not  fa  have  ii   so  .'     Yo,t  made  your 
snares.     I  never  made,  them.' 
ItJBjC  until  she  was  <| - ii<  t  again — for  this,  too,  flashed  out  of 
ml  sud*den  way — 1  we; 
•  1  have  been  thrown  among  one  family  of  your  relations,  B 
pavi  I  have  he  a'ntly  among  them  since  1  went  to 

I  know  .  been  as  honestly  under  my  delu- 

sion as!  myself.     Apd  I  should  !.o  false  and  base  if  J  did  no 

whether  it    is  acceptable  to  you  or  no,  and  whether  you  are 

inclined  to  give  credence  to  it    o'r  no,  that  you  deeply  wrong  both 

Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  a"d  his  son   Herbert  if  you  suppose  them  to 

iherwise   ihan   generous,  upright,  open,  and  incapable  of  any 

tiling  designing  or  mean." 

"  They  ate  your  friends,''  Sat  '  avishani. 

'•They  made  themselves  my  frj  id   I,  "when  they  sup- 

posed me  to  have  superseded  them;   and  when  Sarah  Pocket,  Miss 
,s.  Camilla  w<  .ds,  I   think." 

Tins  contrasting  of  them  with   I  seemed,  1  was  glad  to* 

see,  to  do  them  good  with  her.     She  I  me  keenly  foe  a  lit- 

_,tle  while,  and  then  said,  qujetjy, 
"  What  do  you  wanl  for  them  T 

'{ Only,"  said  I,'" that   vj»h  would  not  confound  them  with  the 
Pliey  may  he  of  the  same  blood,  but,  believe  me.  thej 
!'  the  same  nature." 

ill  looking  at  me  ki  avisham  n 

'•  Wliat  do  you  want- for  them  ?" 

"1  am  lWit  so  cunning,  yon  sec,"  I  said,  in  answer,  conscious  that 
da  little,  "  as  that  I  could   hide  i   if  I   de- 

sired, that  1  do  want   somcii,  ham   if  you  would 

fieri  a   lasting  service  in  life, 
nature  of  t*e  witfaoul 

knowledge,  1  could  show  you  how." 

"  Why  must    it    !  .,.,], 

iig  her  hands  upon   her  n,   Up0n   them,  that 

•<■  atti  n!i' 

•W   I.  "  I  tice  myself  more  than  two 

.  without  his  I  I  don'l  want  '"  be  betrayed. 

Wh\  I   fail  in  m_\  ability  to  fini*h   k    I   cannot  explaki.     It 

■•r  person  s  and  m>i  mine." 
She  gradually  withdrew  her  e^es  from  ujc,  and  turned  them  on 


283  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the 'fire.  After  \jafching  it  for  what  appeared  in  the  silence  and 
by  the  light  of  the  slowly  wasting  candles  to  he  a  hmg  rime,  she 
was  roused  by  the  collapse  of  some  of  the  red  coals,  and  looked 
toward  me  again — at  first  vacantly,  and  then  with  ,a  gradually  con- 
centrating attention.  All  this  time  Estella  knitted  on.  When 
Aiiss  llavishain  had  fixed  her  attention  on  me,  she  said,  speaking 
as  if  there  had  been  no  lapse  in  our  dialogue  : 

"  What  else  I  " 

"Estella,"'  said  I,  turning  to  her  now,  and  trying  to  command 
■my  ttemblhlg  voice*  "  you  know  how  1  love  you.  Yon  know  that 
I  have  loved  you  long  and  dearly." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  my  face  on  being  thus  addressed,  and  her 
finders  plied  their  work",  and  she  looked  at  me  with  an  unmoved 
countenanca  I  saw  that  Miss  Havisham  glanced  from  me  to  her, 
and  from  her  to  me. 

"  1  should  have  said  this  sooner,  hut  for  my  long-  mistake.  '  Yb 
induced  me  to  jjjope  that  Miss  Haviskam  meant  us  for  one  another. 
While  I  thought  you  could  not  help  yourself,,  as  it  were,  1  re- 
frained from  saying  it,     But  I  must  say  it  now." 

Preserving  her  unmoved  countenance,  and  with  her  fingers  still 
going,  Estella  shoOk  her  head. 

"1  know."  said   l,in  answer  to  that  action;  "I  know.     J  have 

no  hope  that  I  shall  ever  call  you  mine,  Estella.     1   am  ignorant 

ewhat  may  become  of  me  very  soon,  how  poor-  I  may  he,  or  where 

I  may  go.     Still,  I  love  yon  ;   L  have  loved  you  ever  since  I  first 

saw  yon  in  this  house." 

Looking  at  me  perfectly  unmoved  and  with  her  fingers  busy,  she 
shook  her  head  again. 

"It  would  have  l>een  cruel  in  Miss  Havisham,  very  cruel,  to  prac- 
tice on  the  affections  of  a  poor  hoy,  and  to  torture  me  through  all 
these  years  with  a  vain  hope  and  an  idle  pursuit,  if  she  had  reflect- 
ed on  the  gravity  of  what  she  did.  iJut  I  think  she  did  not.  I 
think  that  in  the  endurance  of  her  own  snflerring  she  forgot  mine, 
Estella." 

I  saw  Miss  Ilavisbam  put  her  hand  to  her  heart  and  hold  it  there, 
as  she  sat  looking  l-y  turns  at  Estella  and  at  me. 

"It  seems."  said  Est<  Ua,  very  calmly. '•  that  there  are  senti- 
ments, fancies — I  don't  know  how  to  call  them — which  I  am  not 
able  to  comprehend.  When  you  say  that  you  love  me,.  I  know 
what  you  mean,  as  a  form  of  words;  but  nothing  more.  You  ad- 
dress nothing  in  my  breast,  you  touch  nothing  there.  1  don't  care 
for  what  you  say  at  all.  I  have  tried  to  warn  \ou  of  this  ;  now, 
have  I  not  ? " 

1  said  ip  a  miserable  manner,  "Yes." 

"Yes.  But  vou  wouldn't  he  warned,  for  you  thought  I  didn't 
mean  &    Now  did  you  not  1  " 


WHEAT  EXPECTATIONS.  389 

"  I  thought  and  hoped  you  could  not  mean  it.  Von,  so  young, 
untried,  and  beautiful,  Estella  !     Surely  it  is  not  in  Nature." 

"  It  is  in  my  nature,"  she  relumed,  And  then  she  added,  with 
a  stress  upon  the  words,  "  It  is  in  the  nature  formed  within  me.  1 
make  a  greaj;  difference  between  you  and  all  other  people  when  I 
say  so  inueli.     I  can  do  no  more." 

"  is  it  not  true,"  said  I,  "that  Bentley  Drummle  is  in  town  here, 
aud  pursuing'  you  ?" 

"  It  is  (jui.e  true,"  she  replied,  referring  to  him  with  the  indiffer- 
ence of  utte.-  contempt. 

"  That  you  encourage  him.  and  ride  out  with  him,  and  that  he 
dines  with  you  this  very  day  ?" 

She  seemed  a  lit  tie;  surprised  that  I '  should  know  it,  hut  again, 
replied,  "  Quite  true."  , 

••Von  cannot  love  him,  Estella  !  " 

Her  fingers  stopped  for  the  first  time,  as  she  retorted  rather  an- 
grily, ••  VW>al  have  I  told  you  I  Do  you  still  think,  in  spite  of  it, 
that  I  do  not  mean  what   I  say  '.  " 

"  Vou  would  never  many  him,  Estella  ?" 

She  looked  toward  Miss  ilavisham.  and  considered  for  a  moment 
with  her  work  in  her  hands.  Then  she  said,  "  Why  not  tell  you 
the  truth  I     I  am  going  to  be  married  to  him." 

I  dropped  my  face  into  my  hands,  but  was  able  to  control  my- 
self better  than  I  could  have  expected,  considering  what,  agony  it 
gave  me  to  hear  her  say  those  words.  When  I  raised  my  face 
a-aiii  there  was  such  a  ghastly  look  upon  Miss  Havisham's*  that  it 
impressed  me,  even  in  my  passionate  hurry  and  grief 

".Estella,  dearest,  dearest  Estella,  do  not  let  Miss  Havisham 
lead  you  into  i his  fatal  .$|p.  Put  me  aside  forever — yon  I 
done  so,  i  well  know — but  nesiow  yourself  on  some  worthier  ob- 
ject than  Drummle.  Miss  Havisham* gives  you  to  him,  as  the 
greatest,  slight  and  injury  that  could  be  done  to  the  many  far  bet- 
ter men  who  admire  you,  find  to  the  few  who  truly  love  you. — 
Among  those  few  there  may  be  one  who  loves  you  even  as  dearly, 
though  he  has  not  loved  you  as  long,  as  I.  Take  him,  ami  I  can 
bear  it  better,  for  your  sake  !  " 

My  earnestness  awoke  a  wonder  in  her  that  seemed  as  if  it  would 
have  been  touched  with  compassion,  if  she  could  have  rendered  me 
at  all  intelligible  to  her  mind. 

••  1  am  going,"  she  said  again,  in  a  gentler  voice,  "to  be  mar- 
ried to  him.     The  preparations  for  my  marriage  are  making,  and  I 
shall  be  married  soon.      Why  do  you   injuriously  introduce  the    . 
name  of  my  mother  by  adoption  \     It  is  my  own  act." 

"  Your  own  act,  Estella,  to  fling  yourself  away  upon  a  brute  1  " 

"On  whom  should  I  fling  myself  away  ?"  she  retorted  with  a 

smile.     "Should   I  fling  myself  away  upon  the  man  who  would 

the  soonest  feel  (if  people  do  feel  such  things)  that  I  took  nothing 

10 


290  ^  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

to  him  1  There  !  It  is  done.  I  shall  do  well  enough,  and  so  will 
he.  As  to  leading  me  into  what  you  call  this  fatal  step,  Miss  II av- 
isham  would  have  had  me  wait,  and  not  marry  yet  ;  hut  I  am 
tired  of  the  life  I  have  led,  which  has  very  few  charms  for  me,  and 
I  am  willing  enough  to  change  it.  Say.  no  more.  We  shall  nev- 
er understand  each  olher. 

"  Such  a  mean  brute,  such  a  stupid  brute!  "  I  urged  in  despair. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  my  being  a  blessing  to  him,"  said  Estella  ; 
"  I  shall  not  be  that.  Come  !  Here  is  my  band.  Do  we  part  on 
this,  you  visionary  boy — or  man  ?  " 

"Oh,  Estella  !  "  I  answered,  as  my  hitter  tears  fell  fast  on  her 
hand,  do  what  I  would  to  restrain  them  ;  "even  if  I  remained  in 
England,  and  could  hold  my  head  up  with  the  rest,  how  could  I 
see  you  Drummle's  wife  !  " 

"Nonsense,"  she  returned;  "nonsense.  This  will  pass  in  no 
time." 

"Never,  Estella!" 

"  You  will  get  me  out  of  your  thoughts  in  a  week." 

"Out  of  my  thoughts!  You  are  part  of  my  existence,  part  of 
myself.  You  have  been  in  every  line  I  have  ever  read  since  I  first 
came  here,  the  rough  common  boy  whose  poor  heart  yoti  wounded 
even  then.  You  have  been  in  eveiy  prospect  I  have  ever  seen  since — 
on  the  river,  on  the  sails  of  the  ships,  on  the  marshes,  in  the  clouds, 
in  the  light,  in  the  darkness,  in  the  wind,  in  the  woods,  in  the  sea, 
in  the  streets.  You  have  been  the  embodiment  of  every  grace!  ul 
fancy  that  my  mind  has  ever  become  acquainted  with.  The 
stones  of  which  thestrongest  London  buildings  are  made  are  not 
more  real,  or  more  impossible  to  be  displaced  by  your  hands, 
than  your  presence  and  influence  have  been  to  me,  there  and 
everywhere,  and  will  be.  Estella,  to  trie  last  hour  of  my  life  you 
can  not  choose  but  remaimpart  of  my  character,  part  of  the  little 
good  in  me,  part  of  the  evil.  ul  it)  this  separation  1  associate 
you  only  with  the  good,  and  I  will  faithfully  hold  you  to  that 
always,  for  you  must  haye  done  me  far  more  good  than  harm,  lei 
me  feel  noW  what  distress  I  may.  God  bless  you,  God  forgive 
you!" 

In  what  ecstacy  of  unhappiness  I  got  these  broken  words  out  of 
myself  I  don't  know.  The  rhapsody  welled  up  within  me,  like 
blood  from  an  inward  wound,  and  gushed  out.  I  held  her  hand  to 
my  lips  some  lingering  moments,  and  so  left  her.  But  ever  after- 
ward I  remembered — and  soon  afterward  with  stronger  reason — 
.  that  while  Estella  looked  at  me  merely  with  incredulous  wonder, 
the  spectral  figure  of  Miss  Havisham,  her  hand  still  covering  her 
heart,  seemed  all  resolved  into  a  ghastly  stare  of.pity  and  remorse. 

All  done,  all  gone!  So  much  was  done  and  gone  that  when  I 
went  out  at  the  gate  the  light  of  the  day  seemed  of  a  darker  color 
than  wheal  I  went.  in.     For  a  while  I  hid  myself  among  some  lanes 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  by-paths,  and  then  struck  <>IF  To  walk  all  the  w.-.y  to  London. 
For  I  had  by  that  time  c*ome  to  myself  so  far  as  to  consider  that  1 
could  not  go  back  to  the  inn  and  see  Drumrate  there;  that  I  could 
not*  bear  [o  sit  upon  the  coach  and  he  spoken  to,;  that  1  could  00 
nothing  halllso  good  for  myself  as  to  tire  myself  out. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  I  crossed  London  Bridge.  Pursuing 
the  narrow  intricacies  of  the  streets,  which  at  that  time  tended 
westward  near  (he  Middlesex  shore  of  the  river,  my  readiest  access 
to  the  Temple  was  close  by  the  river-side  through  Whitefriars.  1 
was  not  expei  ied  till  to-morrow,  but  I  had  my  keys,  and  if  Her- 
bert were  \  ed  1  cmihi  ge/1  Id  bed  myself  without  disturb- 
ing him.  m 

As  it   seld.un  happened  that  I  came  in  at  that  AVhitefriars 
after  the  Temple  was  closed,  and  as  1  was  very  muddy  and  weary, 
1  did  not  take  it  ill   that  the  night  -porter  examined  me  with  much 
attention  as  he  held  the  gate  a  little  way  open  for   me  to  pass  in. 
To  hefp  his  memory  1  m  ntioned  m\  name. 

"  I  was  nor  <|ujte  sure*  Sir,  but  1  thought  so.  Here's  a  note, 
Sir.  The  messenger  thai  brought  it  said  would  you  be  so  good 
as  read  it  by  my  lantern." 

Much  surprised  by  the  request, •  I  tdtrk the  note.'  It  was  di- 
rected toPhiMo  Pip.  Esquire,  and  on  the  top.df  the  superscription 
were  the  words.  "  PLEASE  READ  this,  hkrk."  I  opened  it,  the 
watchman  holding  up  his  light,,  and  read  inside,  in  Wemmick's 
writing  : 

"  Doft  T  GO  HOIVTE." 


CHAPTER  XLV 


Turning  from  the  Temple  gate  as  soon  as  I  had  read  the 
warning,  1  made  the  best  of  my  way  to  Fleet  Street,  and  there 
gut  a  late  hackney  chariot  and  drove  to  the  Hummums  in  Govent 
Garden  In  those  times  a  bed  was  always  to  he  got  there  at  any 
hour  of  the  night,  and  the  chamberlain,  letting  me  in  at  his 
ready  wicKet.  lighted  the  candle  next  in  order  on  his  shelf,  and 
showed  me  straight  into  the  bedroom  next  in  order  on  his  list,  tt 
*was  a  sort  of  vault  on  the  ground-floor  at  the  back,  with  a  despot- 
io  old  monster  of  a  four-pust.  btdstead  in  it,  straddling  over  the 


292  GKEAT  EXPECTATIONS, 

whole  place,  putting  one  of  his  arbitrary  legs  into  the  fire-place 
and  another  into  the  door-way,  and  squeezing  the  wretched' little 
washing-stand  in  quite  a  Divinely  Righteous  manner. 

As  I  had  asked  for  anight-light,  the  chamberlain  had"  brought 
me  in,  before  he  left  me,  the  good  old  constitutional  rush-light  of 
those  virtuous  days — an  object  like  the  ghost  of  a  walking-pane, 
which  instantly  broke  its  back 'if  it  were  touched,  which  nothing 
could  ever  be  lighted  at,  and  which  was  placed  in  solitary  confine- 
ment at  the  bottom  of  a  high  tin  tower,  perforated  with  round 
holes  that  made  a  staringly  wide-awake  pattern  oh  the  walls. 
Wnen  I  had  got  into  bed,  and  lay  there  footsore,  weary,  and 
wretched,  I  found  ^hat  I  could  no  more  close  my  own  eyes  than 
I  could  close  the  eyes  of  this  foolish  Argus.  .  And  thus,  in  the 
gloom  and  death  ot  the  night,  we  stared  at  -jne  another. 

What  a  doleful  night!  HoW  anxious,  how  dismal,  how  long! 
There  was  an  inhospitable  smell  in  the  room  of  cold  soot  and  hot 
dust,  and  as  I  looked  up  into  the  corners  of  the  tester  over  my 
head,  1  thought  what  a  number  of  blue-bottle  flies  from  the  hutch^ 
ers,  and  ear-wigs  from  the  market,  and  grubs  from  the  country, 
must  be  holding  on  up  there,  lying  .by  for  next  summer.  This 
led  me  to  speculate  whether  any  (if  them  ever  tumbled  down,  and 
then  I  fancied  that  I  felt  light  falls  on  my  face — a  disagreeable 
turn  of  thought,  suggesting  other  and  more  objectionab  e  ap- 
proaches up  my  hack.  When  I  .had  lain  awake  a  little  while, 
those  extraordinary  voices  with  which,  silence  teems  began  to 
make  themselves  audible.  The  closet  whispered,  the  lire-place 
sighed,  the  little  washing-stand  ticked,  and  one  guitar-string 
played  occasionally  in  the  chest  of  drawers.  At  about  the  same 
time  the  eyes  on  the  wall  acquired  a  new  expression,  and  in  every 
one  of  those  staring  rounds  1  saw  written,  Don't  go  home. 

Whatever  night-fancies  and  night-noises  crowded  on  me,  they 
never  warded  off  this  Don't  (jo  home.  It  plaited  itself  into 
whatever  I  thought  of.  as  a  bodily  pain  would  have  done.  Not 
long  before  I  had  read  in  the  newspapers  how  a  gentleman  un- 
known had  come  to  the  Hummums  in  the  night,  and  had  gone  to 
bed.  and  -had  destroyed  himself,  and  had  been  found  in  the  morn- 
ing weltering  in  blood.  It  came  into  my  head  that  he  must  have 
occupied  this  very  vault  of  mine,  and  I  got  out  of  bed  to  assure 
myself  that  there  were  no  red  marks  about ;  then  opened  the  door 
to  look'put  into  the  passages,  and  cheer  myself  with  the  compan- 
ionship of  a  distant  light,  near  which  I  knew  the  chamberlain  to 
be  dozing.  But  ail  this  time,  why  I  was  not  to  go  home,  and 
what,  had  happened  at  home,  and  when  I  should  go  home,  and 
whether  Provis  was  safe  at  home,  were  questions  occupying  my 
mind  so  busily  .that  one  might  have  supposed  there  could  be  no 
room  in  it  for  any  other  theme.  Even  when  I  thought  of  Estella, ' 
and  how  we  had  parted  that  day  forever,  and,  recalled  all  the  cir- 


GREAT  EXPECTATION?.  293 

cumstances  of  our  patting,  arid  all  her  looks  and  tones,  and  .the 
action  of  her  fingers  whbe  she  knitted — even  then  I  was. pursuing, 
here,  and  there  and  every  where,  tin-  caution.  Don't  go  home. 
When  at  last  1  dozed,  in  sheer  e  haust-ion  of  mind  and  body,  it 
',10  a  vast  shadowy  verb  which  1  had  to  conjugate.  Imper- 
ative mood,  present  tense  :  Do  not  thou  go  home,  let  him  not  go 
home,  let  us  not  go  home,  do  not  \  e  or  yon  go  home.  let. not  them 
go  home;  then.  potentially  :  I  may  not  and  !  can  not  go  home; 
and  I  might  not.  could  not,  would  not,  and  should  not  go  home; 
until  1  felt  t hat  I  was  going  distracted,  -and  roiled  over  on  the  pil- 
low, and  looked  at  the  stariiig  rounds  upon  the  wall  again. 

1  had  left  directions  that  I  was  to  be  called  at  seven  ;  fo/  it 
was  p'ain  that  1  must  see  Wemmick  before  seeing  any  one  else, 
and  equally  plain  that  this  was  a  case  in  which  his  Walworth 
sentiments  only  could  be  taken.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  out  of  the 
room  where  the  night  had  been  so  miserable,  and  I  needed  rio 
second  knocking  at  the  door  to  startle  me  from  my  uneasy  bed. 

The  Castle  battleinents  arose  upon  my  view  at  eight •  o'clock 
The  little  servant  happening  to  be  entering  the  fortress  with  two 
hot.  rolls.  I  passed  through  the  postern  and  crossed  the.  draw-  • 
bridge  in  her  company,  and  so  came  without,  announcement  into 
the  presence  of  Wemmick  as  he  was  making  tea  for  himself  and 
the  Aged.  An  open  door  afforded  a  perspective  view  of  the  Aged 
in  bed. 

"  Halloa,  Mr.  Pip  !"  said  Wemmick.  "You  did  come  borne, 
then  .'" 

"  Yes."    1  returned;   "  bu,t  I  didn't  go  home." 

"That's  all  right,''  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Heft  a  note 
for  you  at.  each  of  the  Temple  gates,  on  the  chance.  Which  gate 
did  you  come  to  !" 

I  r.o I d  him. 

"  I'll  go  round  to  the  others  in  the  course  of  the  day  and  de- 
stroy the  notes,"  said  Wemmick  ;  "  it's  a  good  rule  never  to  leave 
documentary  evidence  if  you  can  help  it,  because  you  don't  know 
when  it  may  be  put  in.  I'm  going  to  take  a  liberty  with  you. — 
Would  you  mind  toasting  this  sausage  for  the  Aged  P.  1" 

I  said    I  should   be  delighted  to  do  it. 

"  Then  you  can  go  about  your  work,  Mary  Anne,"  said  Wemmick 
to  the*  lit  tie  servant  ;  "  which  leaves  us  to  ourselves,  don't  you  see, 
Mr.  Dip  ?"  he  added,  winking,  as  she  disappeared. 

I  thanked  him  for  his  friendship  and  caution,  and  our  discourse, 
proceeded  in  a  low  bone,  while  I  toasted  the  Aged's  suasage  and 
he  lnmtered  the  crumb  of  the  Aged's  roll. 

'•  Now,  Mr.  Pip,  you  know."  said  Wemmick,  "you  and  I  under- 
stand one  another.  We  are  in  our  private  and  personal  capacities, 
and  we  have  been  engaged  in  a  confidential  transaction  before  to- 
day.    Official  sentiments  arc  one  thing.     We  are  extra  ollicial." 


S94  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

I  cordially  assented.  I  was  so  very  nervous  that  I  had  already 
lighted  the  Aged's  sausage  like  a  torch,  and  been  obliged  to  blow 
it  out. 

"I  accidentally  heard- yesterday  morning,"  said  Wemmick',  "be- 
ing in  a  certain  place  where  I  once  took  you — even  between  you 
and  me,  it's  as  well'  not  to  mention  names  when  avoidable — " 

"  Much  better  not,"  said  I.     "  I  understand  y'on." 

'•  I  heard  there,  by  chance,  yesterday  morning,"  said  Wemmick. 
•'  that  a  certain  person  not  altogether  of  uncolonia!  pursuits,  and 
not  unpossessed  of  portable  property — T  don't  "know  who  it,  may 
ready  be — we  won't  name  this  person — " 

'i  Not  necessary, "said  I. 

'•  — had  made  some  little  stir  in  a  certain  part  of  the  world  where 
a  good  many  people  go,  not  always  in  gratification  of  their  own  in- 
clination, and  not  quite. irrespective  of  the.  govern  men    expense — " 

In  wat clung  his  face  I  made  quite  a  fire-work  of  the  Aged's  sau- 
sage, and  greatly  discomposed' both  my  own  attention  and  Wem- 
.mick's  ;  for  which  I  apologized. 

" — by  disappearing  from  such  place,  and  being  no  more  heard  of 
therea.houfs.  From  which,"  said  Wemmick,  "  conjectures  had  been, 
raised  and  theories  formed.  I  also  heard  that  you  at  your  cham- 
bers in  Garden  Court,  Temple,  had  been  watched,  and  might  be 
watched  again." 

"By  whom?"  said  I. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  into  that."  said  Wemmick'.  evasively,  'fit  might 
clash  with  official  responsibilities.  1  beard  it,  as  i  have. in  my 
time  heard  other  curious  things  in  the  same  placet  1  don't  tell  it 
to  you  on  information  received.     I  heard  it." 

He  took  the  toasting-fork  and  sausage  from  me  as  he  spoke,  and 
set  forth  the  Aged  s  breakfast  neatly  on  a  little  tray.  Previous  to 
placing  it  before  him  he  went  into  the  Aged's  room  will;  a  clean 
white  cloth,  and  tied  the  same  under  the  old  gentleman's  chin,  and 
propped,  him  up,  and  put  his  night-cap  on  one  side,  afld  gave  him 
quite  a  rakish  air  Then  he  placed  his  breakfast  before  him  with 
great  care,  and  said,  ''All  right,  ain't  you,  Aged  P.I"  To  which 
the  cheerful  Aged  replied.  "All  right,  John,  my  boy,  all  right.'  — 
As  there  seemed  to  be  a  tacit  understanding  that  the  Aged  was  not 
in  a  presentable  state,  and  was  therefore  to  be  considered  invisible, 
I  made  a  pretense  of  being  in  complete  ignorance  of  these  pro- 
ceedings. 

"This  wratching  of  me  at  my  chambers  (which  I  have  once  had 
reason  to  suspect),"  I  sand  to  Wemmick  when  he  came  back,  "  is 
inseparable  from  the  person  to  .whom   you  have  adverted  ;  B  it  ?  " 

We-nmiick  looked  very  grave.  "  I  couldn't  undertake  to  say  that, 
of  my  own  knowledge,  f  mean,  I  couldn't  undertake  to  *say  it 
was  at  first,  But  it  either  is,  or  it  will  be,  or  it's  in  great  danger 
•f  b*hig." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  S95 

As  I  saw  that  he  was  restrained  by  fealty  to  Little  Britain  from 
saying  as  much  as  he  could,  and  as  L  knew  with  thankfulness  to 
him  how  far  out  of  his  way  he  went  to  say  what  he  did,  I  could 
not  press  him.  lint  I  told  him,  after  a  little  meditation  over  the 
lire,  that  I  would  like  to  ask  him  a  question  subject  to  his  answer- 
ing or  not  answering,  as  he  deemed  right,  and  sure  that  his  course 
would  be  Bight.,  lie  paused  in  his  breakfast,  and  crossing  his 
arms,  a  <1  pinching  his  shirt-sleeves  (his  notion  of  in-door  comfort 
was  to  sit  without  any  coat),  he  nodded  to  me  once  to  put  my  ques- 
tion. 

"  You  have  heard  of  a  man  of  bad  character,  whose  true  name 
is  Cbropey '? " 

He  answered  with  one  other  nod. 

••  Is  he  living  1  " 

One  oilier  nod. 

"  Is  he  in  London  1  " 

He  gave  me  one  other  nod.  compressed  the  post-office  exceeding- 
ly, gave  me  one  last  ncfll,  and  went  Oil  with  his  breakfast. 

"  Now,"  said  Weuimick.  ••  questioning  being  over" — which  he 
emphasized  and  repeated  for  my  guidance — "  I  come  to  what  I  did 
after  hearing  what  I  heard.  1  went  to  (larden  Court  to  find  you; 
not  finding  you,  I  went  to  C'.arriker's  to  find  Mr.  Herbert." 

"And  him  .you  found  ?"  said   I,  with  great  anxiety. 

"And  him  l  found.  Without  mentioning  any  names  or  going 
into  any  details,  I  gave  him  to  understand  ill  at  if  he  was  aware 
of  any  body — Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard — being  about  the  chambers, 
or  about  the  immediate  neighborhood,  he  had  better  get  Tom,  Jack, 
or  Richard  out,  of  the  way  while  you  was  out  of  the  way." 

"  lie  would  be  greatly  puzzled  what  to  do  ] " 

"  He  tflqs  puzzled  what  to  do  ;  not  the  less  that  I  gave  him  my 
opinion  that  it  was  not  safe  to  try  to  get  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard 
too  far  out  of  the  way  at  present.  Mr.  Pip,  1*11  tell  you  some- 
thing. Under  existing  circumstances  there  is  no  place  like,  a  great 
city  when  you  are  once  in  it.  Don't,  break  cover  too  soon.  Lie 
close.  Wait  till  things  slacken  before  you  try  the  open,  even  for 
foreign  air." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  valuable  advice,  and  asked  him  what  Her- 
bert had  done. 

"  .Mr.  Herbert,"  said  Wemmick,  "after  being  all  of  a  heap  for 
half  an  hour,  struck  out  a  plan.  Ho  mentioned  to  me  as  a  secret, 
thai  he  is  courting  a  youn^  lady  who  has,  as  no  doubt  you  are 
aware,  a  bedridden  Pa.  Which  Pa  having  been  in  the  Purser  line 
of  life,  lies  abed  in  a  bow-window  where  he  can  see  the  ships  --ail 
up  and  down  the  river.  You  are  acquainted  with  the  young  lady, 
most,  probably  .'" 

"  Not  personally,''  said   I. 

The  truth  was,  that  she  had  objected  to  me  as  an  expensive  com- 


296  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

panion  who  did  Herbert  no  good,  and  that  when  Herbert  had  first 
proposed  to  present  me  to  her  she  had  received  the  proposal  with 
such  very  moderate  warmth  that  Herbert  had  felt  himself  obliged 
to  confide  the  slate  of  the  case  to  me,  with  a  view  to  the  passage 
of  a  little  time  before  I  made  heracquintanee.  When  I  had  begun 
to  advance  Herbert's  prospects  by  stealth,  I  had  been  able  to  bear 
this  with  cheerful  philosophy  ;  he  and  his  affianced,  for  their  part, 
had  naturally  not  been  very  anxious  to  introduce  a  third  person  in- 
to their  interviews ;  and  thus,  although  I  waS  assured  that  I  had 
risen  in  Clara's  esteem,  and  although  the  young  lady  and  I  had  long- 
regularly  interchanged  messages  and  remembrances  by  Herbert,  1 
had  never  seen -her.  However,  I  did  not  trouble  Wemmick  with 
these  particulars.  . 

"The  house  with  the  bow-window,"  said  Wemmick,  "  being  by 
the  river-side,  down  the  Pool  there  between  Limehouse  and  Green- 
wich, and  being  kept,  it  seems,  by  a  very  hospitable  wjdow  who 
has  a  furnished  upper  floor  to  let,  Mr.  Herbert  put  it  to  me,  what  did 
I  think  of  that  as  a  temporary  tenement  for  Tom,  Jack,  or  Hie-h- 
ard? Now,  I  thought  very  well  of  it,  for  three  reasons  Til  give 
you.  That  is  to  say  :  Firstly,  It's  altogether  out  of  ail  your  beats, 
and  is  well  away  from  the  usual  heap  of  streets  £reat  and  small. 
Secondly,  "Without  goiDg  near  it  yourself,  you  could  always  hear 
of  the  safety  of  Tom,  Jack,  or  Richard,  through  Mr.  Herbert. — 
Thirdly,  After  a  while,  and  when  it  might  be  prudent,  if  you  should 
want  to  slip  Tom,  Jack,  or  Kichard  on  board  a  foreign  packet-boat, 
there  he  is — ready." 

Much  comforted  by  these  considerations,  I  thanked  Wemmick 
again  and  again,  and  begged  him  to  proceed. 

"  Well,  Sir  !  Mr.  Herbert  threw  himself  into  the  business  with 
a  will,  and  by  nine  o'clock  last  night  he  housed  Tom,  Jack,  or 
Richard — whichever  it  may  be — you  and  I  don't  want  to  know — 
fpiife  successfully.  At  the  old  lodgings  it  was  understood 
that  he  was  summoned  to  Dover,  and,  in  fact,  he  was  taken 
down  the  Dover  road  and  cornered  out  of  it.  Now,  another 
great  advantage  of  all  this  is,  that  it  was  done  without  you, 
and  when,  if  any  one  was  concerning  himself  about  your 
movements,  you  must  be  known  to  be  ever  so  many  miles  off  and 
quite  otherwise 'engaged.  This  diverts  suspicion  and  confuses  it; 
and  for  the  same  reason  I  recommended  that  even  if  you  came'back 
last  night  you  should  not  go  home.  It  brings  in  more  confusion, 
and  you  want  confusion." 

Wemmick,  having  finished  his  breakfast,  here  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  began  to  get  his  coat  on. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Pip,"  said  be,  with  his  hands  still  in  the  sleeves, 
"  I  have  p'robably  done  the  most  I  can  do  ;  but  if  I  can  ever  do 
more— -from  a  Walworth  point  of  view,  and  in  a  strictly  piivate 
and  personal  capacity — I  shall  be  glad  ro  do  it.     Here's  the  ad- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Wt 

.dress.  Tlhere  can  lie  no  harm  in  your  going  here  to-night  and 
seeing  for  yourself  that. all  is  well  with  Tom.  Jack,  or  Uichard, 
before  you  go  home — which  is  another'  reason  for  your  not  going 
home  last  night.  But  after  you  nave  goneibome,  don't  go»fbaek 
here.  You  are  very  welcome,  lam  sure,  Mr.  Pjp ;"  his  hands 
were  now  out  of  his  sleeves,  and  I  was  shaking  them  ;  '-and  let 
me  finally  impress  one  important  point  upon  you."  He  laid  his 
hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and  added  in  a  solemn  whisper  :  "  Avail 
yourself  of  this  evening  to  lay  hold  of  his  portable  property.  You 
don't  know  what  may  happen  to  him.  Don't  lei  any  thing  hap- 
pen to  the  .portable  property." 

Quite  despairing  of  makfng  my  mind  clear  to  Wemmick  on  this 
point.  I  forbore  to  try. 

••  Time's  up,"  said  Wemmick,  "and  I  must  be  off.  If  you 
had  nothing  more  pressing  to  do  than  to  keep  here  till  dark,  that's 
what  I  should  advise.  You  look  very  much  worried,  and  it  would 
do  you  good  lo  have  a  perfectly  quiet  day  with  the  Aged— lre'11 
be  up  presently— and  a  little  bit  of — you  remember  the  pig  ?"    . 

••  ( )f  course,''  said  I. 

"  Well;  arwJ  a  little  bit  him.  That  sausage  yon  tasted  was  his. 
and  he  was  in  all  respects  a  first-rater.  Do  try  him,  if  it  is  only 
for  old  acquaintance  sake.  Goocf-by,  Aged  Parent  !"  in  a  cheery 
shout. 

••  All  right,  John  ;  all  right,  my  boy  !"  piped  the  old  man  from 
wiihin. 

1  soon  fell  asleep  before  Wemmiek's  tire,  and  the  Aged  and  I 
enjoyed  one  another's  society  by  falling  asleep  before  it  more  or 
less  all  day.  We  had  loin  of  pork  for  dinner,  and  greens  grown 
on  the  estate,  and  1  nodded  at  the  Aged  with  a  good  intention 
whenever  I  failed  to  do  it  accidentally.  When  it  was  quite  dark, 
I  left  the  AiS'-i]  preparing  the  fire  for  toast  ;  and  1  inferred  from 
the  number  of  fea-cups,  as  well  as  from  his  glances  at  the  two 
little  doors  in  the  wall,  that  Miss  Skiffins  was  expected. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

Eight  o'clock  had  struck  before  1  got  into  the  air  that  was 
scented,  not  disagreeably,  by  the  chips  and  shavings  of  the  long- 
shore boat-builders,  and  mast.  oar.  and  block  makers.  All  that 
water-side  region  of  the  upper  and  lower  Pool   below  bridge  was 


298  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

unknown  ground  to  me,  and  when  I  struck  down  by  the  river,  I. 
found  that  the  spot  I  wanted  was  not  where  1  had  supposed  it'  to 
he,  and  was  any'thing  but  easy  to  find.  It  was  called  Mill  Pond 
Bank,  Chinks's  Basin;  and  I  had  no  other  guide  to  Chinks's  Basin 
than  the  Old  Green  Copper  Rope- Walk. 

It  matters  not  what  stranded  ships  repairing  in  dry  docks  I 
lost  myself  among,  what  old  hulls  of  ships  in  course  of  being 
knocked  to  pieces,  what  nnzi-  and  slime  and  other  dregs  of  tide, 
what  yards  of  ship-builders  and  ship-breakers,  what  rusty  anchors 
blindly  biting  into  the  ground  though  for  years  off  duty,  what 
mountainous  country  of  accumulated  casks  and  timbei ,  and  how 
many  rope-walks  that  were  not  the  Old  Green  Copper.  After 
several  times  falling  short  of  my  destination  and  as  often  over- 
shooting it,  I  came  unexpectedly  round  a  corner  uppn  Mill  Pond 
Bank.  It  was  a  fresh  kind  o'  place,  all  circumstances  consider- 
ed, where  the  wind  from  the  river  had  room  to  turn  itself  round  ; 
and  there  were  two  or  three  trees  in  it,  and  there  Was  the  stump 
of  a  ruined  wind-mill,  and  there  was  the  Old  G7ee*n  Copper  Rope- 
Walk —  whose  long  and  narrow  vista  I  could  trace  in  the  moon- 
light, through  a  series  of  wooden  frames  set  in  the  ground,  that 
looked  like  infirm  hay-making  rakes  which  had  grown  old  and 
lost  'most  of  their  teei  h 

Selecting  from  the  few  queer  houses  upon  Mi  1  Pond  Bank  a 
house  with  a  wooden  front  and  three  stories  of  bow-windows  (not 
bay-windows,  which  is  another  thing).  I  looked  at  the  plate  hpon 
the  door,  and  read  there.  Mrs.  Whim  pie.  That  heing  the  name  1 
wanted,  1  knocked,  and  an  e  derly  woman  of  a  pleasant  and  thriv- 
ing appearance  responded.  She  was  immediately  deposed,  how- 
ever, by  Herbert,  with  his  finger  on  his  lip,  who  led  me  into  the 
parlor  and  shut  the  door.  It  was  an  odd  Sensation  to  sec  his  very 
familiar  face  established  quite  at  home  in  that  very  unfamiliar 
room  and  region;  and  I  found  myself  looking  at  him,  much  as  I 
looked  at  the  corner  clipboard  with  the  glass  and  china,  the  shells 
upon  the  chimney-piece,  and  the  colored  engravings  on  the  wall, 
representing  the  death  of.  Captain  Cook,  a  ship  launch,  and  his 
Majesty  King  George  Third  in  a  coachman's  wig,  leather-breech- 
es, top-boots,  and  profile,  on  U)e  terrace  at  Windsor. 

"  All  is  well,  Handel,"  said  Herbert,  "and  he  is  quite  satisfied, 
though  eager  to  see  you.  My  dear  girl  is  with  her  father  ;  if  you'll 
wait  till  she  comes  down  I'll  make  you  known  to  her,  and  then 
we'll  go  up  stairs.      That's  her  father!" 

I  had  become  aware  of  an  alarming  growling  overhead,  and  had 
probably  expressed  the  fact  in  my  countenance. 

"I  am  afraid  he  is  a  sad  old  rascal,"  said  Herbert,  smiling, 
"but  I  have  never  seen  him.  Don't  you  smell  rum?  He  is  ai- 
ways  at,  it." 

"  At  rum  ?"  said  I. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  399 

"Yes."  returned  Herbert-,  ''and  you  may  suppose  how  mild  it, 
makes  his  gout.  He  persists,  too,  in  keeping  a  1  Hie  provisions  up 
stairs  in  his  room,  and  serving  them  out.  He  keeps  then)  on 
shelves  over  his  head,  and  will  weigh  them  all.  His  room  must, 
be  like  a  chandler's  shop." 

While  he  thus  spoke,  the  growling  noise  became  a  prolonged 
roar,  and  thru  died  away. 

"  What  else  can  h"  the  consequence."  said  Herbert,  in  explan- 
ation, "if  he  trill  but  the  cheese.'  A  man  with  the  gout  in  his 
right  hand — and  every  where  e  se — can't  expect  to  gel  through  a 
Doub  e  (llouet-sier  without  hurting  himself." 

He  seemed  to  have  hurt  himself  very  much,  for  he  gaTO another 
furious  roar. 

*  "To  have  I 'n .vis  for  an  upper  lodger  is  quite  a  godsend  to 
Mrs.  Whiinple,"  said  Herbert,  "for  of  course  people  in  general 
won't  stand  that  noise.     A  curious  place.  Handel ;   isn't  it  f' 

It  was  a  curious  place,  indeed  ;  but  remarkably  well  kept  and 
c  can. 

"  Mrs.  Whimple."  said  Herbert,  when    I  told  him   so.  "is   the 
best   of  'Housewives,  and    I    really   do   not    know    what    my  Clara 
would  do  without  her  motherly  help.      For  Clara  has  no  m  itli 
ber'own,. Handel,  and  no  relation  in  the  world   but   old  Oruffand- 
grim." 

"  Surely  that's  not  his  name,  Herbert  I" 

','  No.  no,"  said  Herbert,  "  that's  my  name  for  him.  His  name 
is  Mr.  Barley.  But  what  a  b  essing  it  is  for  the  son  of  my  father 
and  mother  to  love  a  gin  who  has  no  relations,  and  who  can  never 
bother  herself,  or  an\   body  else,  about  her  family  !" 

Herbert  had  told  mc  on  former  occasions,  and  now  reminded 
me,  that  he  first  knew  Miss  Clara  Barley  when  she  was  comple- 
ting her  education  at  an  establishment  at  Hammersmith,  and  that 
on  her  being  recalled  home  to  nurse  her  lather,  he  and  she  had 
confided  their  affection  to  the  motherly  Mrs.  Whiinple,  by  whom' 
it  had  been  fostered  and  regulated  with  equal  kindness  a,ud  dis- 
cretion, ew  since.  It.  was  understood  that  nothing  of  a  lender 
nature  couid  possibly  be  confided  to  Old  Barley,  by  reason  of 
his  being  irhequal  to  the  consideration  of  any  subject  more  psycho- 
logical than  Gout)  Rum,  and  Purser's  stores. 

As  we  were  thus  conversing  in  a  low  tone  while  Old  Barley's 
sustained  growl  vibrated  in  the  beam  that  crossed  the  ceiling,  the 
room  door  opened,  and  a  very  pretty  slight  dark-eyed  girl  of  twen- 
ty or  so  came  in  with  a  basket  in  her  hand  :  whom  Herbert  ten- 
derly relieved  of  the  basket,  and  presented  blushing,  as  "Clara." 
8 he  really  was  a  most  charming  girl,  and  might  have  passed  lor  a 
captive  fairy  whom  that  truculent  Ogre.  Old  Barley,  had  pressed 
into  his  survica. 


300 


great  expectations. 


"  Look  here,"  said  Herbert,  showing  me  the  basket  with  a 
smile  after  we  had  talked  a  bit  tie;  "'here's  poor  Clara's  supper, 
served  out.  every  night.  Here's  ber  allowance  of  bread,  and  here's 
her  slice  of  cheese,  and  here's  her  rum — which  I  drink.  This  is 
Mr.  Barley's  breakfast  for  to-morrow,-  served  out  to  he  cooked. 
Two  mutton-chops,  .three  potatoes,  some  split  peas,  a  little  flour, 
two  ounces  of  butter,  a  pinch  of  salt,  and  all  this  hlack  pepper.  It's 
stewed  up  together  an.d  taken  hot,  and  it's  a  nice  thing  for  the 
gout,  I  should  think!" 

.  There,  was  something  so  natural  and  winning  in  Clara's  resign- 
ed way  of  looking  at  these  stores  in  detail,  as  Herbert  pointed 
them  o'ufc,  and  something  so  confiding,  loving,  and  innocent,  in  her 
modest  manner  of  yielding  herself  to  Herbert's  embracing  arm — 
and  something  so  gentle- in  her,  so  much  needing  protection  oif 
Mill  Pond  Bank]  by  Chin'ks's  Basin  and  the  Old  Creen  Copper 
•Hope-Walk,  with  Old  Barley  growling  in  the  beam — that  I  would 
not  have  undone  the  engagement  bet  ween  her  and  Herbert  for  all 
the  money  in  the  pocket-book  I  had  never  Opened. 

I  was  looking  at  her  with  pleasure  and  admiration  when  sud- 
denly the  growl  swelled  into  a  roar  again,  and  a  frightful  bump- 
ing noise  was  heard  above,  as  if. a  giant  with  a  wooden  leg  were 
trying  to  bore  it  through  the  ceiling  to  coine  at  us.  Upon -Ibis 
Clara  said  to  Herbert,  "  Papa  wants  me  darling!"  and  ran  away. 

"There's  an  unconscionable  old  shark  for  you!"  said  Herbert. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  he  wants  now,  Handel?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  1.     "  Something  to  drink  ?" 

"That's  it!"  cried  Herbeit.  as  if  I  had  made  a  guess  of  extra- 
ordinary merit.  "  lie  keeps  his  grog  ready-mixed  in  a  little  tub 
on  the  table.  Wait  a  moment,  and  you'll  hear  Clara  lift  him  up 
to  take  some.  There  he  goes  !"  Another  roar,  with  a  prolonged 
shake  at  the  end.'  "Now,"  said  Herbert,  as  it  was  succeeded  by 
silence,  "  he's  drinking.  Now,"  said  Herbert,  as  the. growl  re- 
sounded in  the  beam  once  more,  "  he's  down  again  on  his  back  |" 

Clara  returning  soon  afterward,  Herbert  accompanied  me  up 
stairs  to  see  our  charge.  As  we  passed  Mr.  Barley's  door,  he  was 
heard  hoarsely  muttering  within,  in.  a  strain  that  rose  and  fell  like 
wind,  the  following  Refrain  ;  in  which  I  substitute  good  wishes 
for  something  quite  the  reverse. 

"  Ahoy  !  Bless  your  eyes,  here's  old  Bill  Barley  !     Here's  old 

•  Bill  Barley,  bless  your  eyes  !     Here's  old.  Bill  Barley  on  the  flat 

of  his  back,  by  the  Lord  !     Lying  on  the  flat  of  his  back,  like  a 

drifting  old  dead  flounder,  here's  your  old  Bill  Barley,  bless 'your 

eyes  !     Ahoy  !     Bless  you  !" 

In  this  strain  of  consolation  Herbert  informed  me  tbe'invisible 
Barley  would  commune  with  himself  by  the  day  and  night  to- 
gether ;  often,  while  it  was  light,  having  at  the  same  time  one  eye 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  301 

at  a  telescope  which  was  fitted  on  his  bed  for  the  convenience  of 
sweeping  the  river. 

In  his  two  cabin  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  house,  which  were  fresh 
and  airy,  ami  in  which  Mr.  Barley  was  less  audible  than  below,  1 
1'ouiid  I'rovis  comfortably  settled.  He  expressed  no  alarm,  and 
seemed  fo  feel  none  thai  was  worth  mentioning;  but  it,  struck  me 
that  he  was  softened — indefinably,  for  I  could  not  have  said  how. 
and  could  never  afterward  recall  how,  when  I  tried  ;  but  cer- 
tainly. 

The  opportunity  that  the  day's  rest  bad  given  me  for  reflection 
bad  resulted  in  my  fully-  deterniiniiiir  to  say  nothing  to  hira  re- 
specting Oonipey.  For  any  thjng  I  knew,  his  animosity  toward 
the  man  might  otherwise  lead  to  his  seeking  him  out  and  rushing 
on  his  own  destruction.  Therefore,  when  Herbert  and  1  sat  down 
with  him  by  his  lire,  basked  him  first  of  all  whether  he  relied  on 
Wemmick's  judgment  and  sources  of  information  .' 

"  Ay.  ay.  dear  boy  !''  he  answered,  with  a  grave  nod,  "Jag- 
ger.S'8  knows.'' 

"Then  I  have  talked  with  Wemmick,"  said  I,  "and  have  come 
to  tell  you  what  caution  he  gave  me.  and  what  advice." 

This  1  did  accurately,  with  the  reservation  just,  mentioned;  and 
1  told  him  how  Weinmiuk  had  heard,  in  Newgate  prison  (whether 
from  ollicers  or  prisoners  I  could  not  say),  that  he  was  under  some 
suspicion,  and  that  my  chambers  had  been  watched;  how  Wem- 
mick  had  recommended  his  keeping  close  for  a  time,  and  :ny  keep- 
ing away  from  him:  and  what  Wemmick  had  said  about  getting  * 
him  abroad  I  added,  thai  of  course,  when  the  time  came.  1 
should  go  with  him.  or  should  follow  close  upon  him,  as  might  he 
safest  in  Wemmick's  judgment.  What  was  to  follow  that- 1  did 
not  touch  upon;  neither  indeed  was  1  at  all  clear  or  comfortable 
about  it  in  my  own  mind,  now  that  I  saw  him  in  that  softer  con- 
dition, and  in  declared  peril  for  my  sake.  As  to  altering  my  way 
of  living,  by  enlarging'my  expenses.  1  put  it  to  him  whether,  in 
our  present  Unsettled  and  difficult  circumstances  it  would  not  be 
simply  ridiculous,  if  ii  were  no  worse/ 

He  could  noi-deny  this,  and  indeed  was  very  reasonable  through- 
out. His  coming  back  was  a  venture,  he  said,  and  he  had  always 
known  it  to  be  a  venture!!  He  would  do  nothing  to  make  it  a 
desperate  venture,  and  he  had  very  little  fear  ol'  his  safety  with 
such  good  help. 

Herbert,  who  had  been  looking  at  the  tire  ami  pondering,  here 
said  that  something  hail  come  into  his  thoughts  arising  out  of. 
Wemmick's  suggestion,  which  it  might  be  worth  while  to  pursue. 
"  We  are  both  good  Watermen.  Handel,  and  could  take  him  down 
the  river  ourselves  when  the  right  tittle*  comes.  No  boat  would 
then  be  hired  for  tin-  purpose,  ami  no  boatmen;  that  would  save 
at  least,  a  chance  uf  suspicion,  and  any  change  us  worth  saving* 


m-i  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Never  mind  the  season  ;  don't  van  think  it  might  he  a  good  thing 
"if  you  began  at-  once  to  keep  a  boat  at  the  Temple  slairs,  and  were 
in  the  habit  of  rowing  up  and  down  the  river?  You  fall  into  that 
habit,  and  then  who  notices  or  minds'?  Do  it  twenty  times  or  fifty 
times,  and  there  is  .nothing  special  in  your  doing  it  the  twenty  -first 
or  lifty-tirst." 

I  liked  this  seherae,  and  Provis  was  quite  elated  by  it,  We 
agreed  that  it  should  be  carried  into  execution,  and  that  Provis 
should  never  recognizue  us  if  we  came  below  bridge  and  rowed 
lii'st  Mill  Pond  Bank.  But  we  further  agreed  that  he  should  pull 
down  the  blind  in  that  part  of  his  window  which  gave  upon  the 
east,  whenever  be  saw  us  and  all  was  right, 

Our  conference  being  now  ended,  and  every  tiling  arranged,  I 
rose  to  go  ;  remarking  to. Herbert  that  he  and  I  had  better  not  go 
home  together*  and  that  I  would  take  half  an  hour's  start  of  him. 
"  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  here,"  1  said  to  Provis,  "  though  I  can 
not  doubt  your  being  safer  here  than  near  me.     Gooddjy  !" 

"  Dear  boy,"  he  answered,  clasping  my  hands,  "  I  donlt  know 
when  we  may  meet  again,  and  1  don't  like  Good-by.  Say  Good- 
night !" 

"  Good-night  !  Herbert  will  go  regularly  between  us,  and  when 
the  lime  comes  you  may  be  certain  1  shall  be  ready.  ( iood-night, 
Good-night  !" 

We  thought  it  best  that  he  should  stay  in  his  own  rooms,  and 
deleft  him  on  the  landing  outside  of  his  door,  holding  a  light  over 
*the  stair-rail  to  light  us  down  stairs.  Looking  back  at  him,  I 
thought  of  that  first  night  of  his  return  when  our  positions  were 
reversed,  and  when  I  little  supposed  my  heart  could  ever  be  as 
heavy  and  anxious  at  parting  from  him  as  it  was  now. 

Old  Barley  was  growling  and  swearing  when  we  repassed  his 
door,  with  no  appearance  of  having  ceased,  or  of  meaning  to  cease. 
When  we  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  I  asked  Herbert  whether  he 
had  preserved  the  name  of  Provis  ?  He  replied,  certainly  not,  and 
that  the  lodger  was  Mr.  Campbell.  He  also  explained  that  the 
utmost  known  of  Mr:  Campbell  there  was,  that  he  (Herbert)  had 
Mr.  Campbell  consigned  to  him,  and  felt  a  strong  personal  interest 
h«  bis  being  well  cared  for  and  living  a  secluded  life.  So  when  we 
went  into  the  parlor,  where  Mrs.  Whimple  and  Clara  were  seated 
at  work",  I  said  nothing  of  my  owm  interest  in  Mr.  Campbell,  but 
kept  it  to  myself. 

"Vyhen  I' had  taken  leave  of  the  pretty,  gentle,  dark-eyed  girl, 
and  the  motherly  woman  who  had  not  outlived  her  honest  sympa- 
thy with  a  little  affair  of  true  love,  I  felt  as  if  the  Old  Green  Cop- 
per Rope-Walk  had  growa  quite  a  different  place.  Old  Barley 
might  be  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  might  swear  like  a  whole  field  of 
troopers,  but  there  were  redeeming  youth  and  trust-  and  hope 
enough  in  Cbiuks's  Basin  to  fill  it  to  overflowing.    And  then  I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  SO? 

thought  of  Estella,  and  of  our  parting,  and  went  home  very  sadly. 

All  things  were  as  quiet  in  tin-  Temple  as  ever  I  had  seen  them. 
The  windows  of  the  rooms  on  that  side  lately Ibocupied  by  Prov- 
iso were  dark  and  still,  and  there  was  no  lounger  in  Garden  Court. 
I  walked  past  the  Com  lain  twice  or  thrice  before  I  descended  the 
steps  that  were  between  me  and  my  rooms,  but  1  was- quite  alone. 
Herbert  coining  to  my  i  edsidc  when  he  came  in — for  1  went  straight 
to  hed,  dispirited  and  fatigued — made  the  same  report.  Opening 
one  of  the  windows  after  that,  he  looked  out  into  the  moonlight, 
and  told  me  that  the  pavement  was  as  solemnly  empty  as  the  pave- 
ment of  any  Cathedral  at  that  same  hour. 

Next  day  1  sel  myself  to  get  the  boat.  It  was  soon  done,  and 
the  ho-t  was  brought  round  to  thy  Temple  stairs,  and  lay  where 
J  could  reach  her  within  a  minute  or  two.  Then  I  began'  to  go 
out,  as  for  training  and  practice;  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with 
Herbert.  1  was  often  out  in  cold,  rain,  and  sleet,  but  nobody  took 
much  note  of  me  after  1  had  been  out  a  few  times.  At  first  I 
kept  above  Blaokfriars  Bridge;  but  as  the  hours  ofth*e  tides  chang- 
ed 1  took  toward  London  Bridge,  it  was  Old  London  Bridge  in 
those  days,,  and  at  certain  states  of  the  tide  there  was  »  race  and 
fall  of 'the  water  there  which  gave  it  a  bad  reputation.  But  1 
knew  well  enough  how  to  "shoot"  the  bridge  after  seeing  it  done, 
and  so  began  to  row  about  among  the  shipping  in  the  l'ool,  and 
down  to  Erith.  The  first  time  1  passed  Mill  Bond  Bank,  Herbert 
and  I  were  pulling  a  pair  of  oars  :  and,  both  in  going  and  return- 
ing, we  saw  the  blind  toward  the  east  come  down.  Herbert  was 
randy  there  less  frequently  than  three  limes  in  a  week,  and  believ- 
er brought,  me  a  single  word  of  intelligence  that  was  at  all  alarm- 
ing. Still  J  knew  that  there  was-oause  for  alarm,  and  1  could  not 
get  ri3  of  the  notion  of  being  watched.  Once  received,  h  is  a 
haunting  idea  ;  and  how  many  undesigning  persons  I  suspected 
of  watching  me  it  woufcd  be  hard  to  calculates. 

In  short,  1  was  always  full  of  fears  for  the  rash  man  who  was 
in  hiding.  Herbert-  had  sometimes  said  to  me  that  he  found  it 
pleasant  to  stand  at  one  of  our  windows  after  dark,  when  the  tide 
was  running  down,  and  to  think  that  it  was  flowing,  with  every- 
thing it  bore,  toward  Clara.  But  1  thought  with  dread  that  it  was 
flowing  toward  Magwitch;  and  that  any  black  mark  on  its  surface 
might  be  his  pursuers,  going  swiftly,  silently,  and  surely  to  take 
him. 


304  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 


Some  weeks  passed  without  bringing  any  change.  We  waited 
for  Wemmick,  and  he  made  no  sign.  If  I  had  never  known  him 
out  of  Little  Britain,  and  had  never  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  being 
on  a  familiar  footing  at  the  Castle,  I  might  have  doubted  him  ;  not 
so  for  a  moment,  knowing  him  as  I  did. 

My  worldly  atfairs  began  to.wear  a  gloomy  appearance,  and  I 
was  pressed  for  money  by  more  than  one  creditor.  Even  I  my- 
self began  to  know  the  want  of  money  (I  mean  oi  ready  money  in 
my  own  pOcket),  and  to  relieve  it  by  converting  some  easily  spared 
articles  of  jewelry  into  cash.  But  I  had  quite  determined  that  it  ■ 
would  be  a  heartless  fraud  to  take  more  money  from  my  patron  in 
the  existing  stale  of  my  uncertain  thoughts  and  plans.  Therefore, 
1  had  sent  him  the  unopened  pocket  bonk  by  Herbert, .to  hold  in 
Ins  own  keeping,  and  I  felt  a  kind  of  satisfaction — whether  it  was 
a  false  kind*  or  a  Irue,  I  hardly  know — in  not  having  profited  by 
his  generosity  since  his  revelation  of  himself. 

As  the  time  wore  on,  an  Impression  settled  heavily  upon  me  that 
Estella  was  married.  Fearful  of  having  it  confirmed,  though  it 
was  all  but  a  conviction.  I  avoided  the  newspapers,  and  begged 
Herbert  (to  whom  I  had  confided  the  circumstances  of  our  last- 
interview)  never  to  speak  of  her  to  me.  Why  I  hoarded  up  this 
last  wretched  little  rag  of  the  robe  of  hope  that  was  rent  and  giv- 
en to  the  winds,  how  do  1  know  ?  Why  did  yOu  who  read  this, 
commit  that  not  dissimilar  inconsistency  of  your  owu  last  year, 
last  month,  last  week  I 

it  was  an  unhappy  life  that  I  lived,  and  its  one  dominant  anXi*- 
ety,  towering  over  all  its  other  anxieties  like  a  high  mountain  above 
a  range  of  mountains,  never  disappeared  from  my  view.  Still.no 
new  cause  for  fear  arose.  Let  me  start  from  my  bed  as  1  would, 
with  the  terror  fresh  upon  me  that  he  was  discovered;  let  me  sit 
listening  as  I  would,  with  dread,  for  Herbert's  returning  step  at 
night,  lest  it  should  be  fleeter  than  ordinary,  and  winged  with  evil 
news;  for  all  that,  and  much  more  to  like  purpose,  the  round  of 
things  went  on.  Condemned  to  inaction  and  a  state  of  constant 
restlessness  and  suspense,  1  rowed  about  in  my  boat,  and  waited, 
waited,  waited  as  I  best  could. 

There  were  states  of  the  tide  when,  having  been   down  the  riv- 
er, I  could  not  get  back  through  the  eddy-chafed  arches  and  siar- 
'ings  of  old  London  Bridge;  then,  I  left  my  boat  at  a  wharf  near 
\u  Custom-house,  to  be  brought  up  afterward  to  the  Temple  stairs. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  905 

I  was  not  averse  to  doing'  this,  as  ir  served  to  make  me  and  my 
boat  a  commoner  incident  among  the  water-side  people  there. — 
From  this  slight  occasion  sprang  two  meetings  that  1  have. now  to 
tell  of. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  month  of  February,  I- came  ashore  ai 
the  wharf  a1  dusk.  I  had  polled  down  as  far  as  Greenwich  will) 
the  ebb  tide,  and  had  turned  with  the  tide.  I:  had  been  a  fine 
bright  day,  hot  had  become  foggy  as  the  .sun  dropped,  and  I  had 
to  feel  My  way  hack  among  the  shipping  pretty  carefully. — 
Both  in  going  and  re1  turning  I  had  seen  the  signal  in  his  window. 
All  well.  *»• 

As  it  was  a  raw  evening  and  1  was  cold,  I  thought  1  would 
comfort  myself  with  dinner  at  once;  and  as  1  had  hours  of  de- 
jection and  solitude  before  rife  if  I  went  home  to  the  Temple,  I 
thought  1  would  afterward  go  to  the  play*.  The  theatre  where 
Mr.  Wopsle  had  achieved  his  questionable  triumph  was  in  that 
waterside  neighborhood  (it  is  nowhere  now),  and  to  that  theatre  I 
resolved  to  go.  I  was  aware  that  Mr.  Wopsle  had  not  succeeded 
in  reviving  the  Drama,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  rather  partaken 
s  decline,  lie  had  been  ominously  heard  of  as  a  faithful 
Black,  in  Connection  with  a  little  girl  of  noble  birth,  and  a  mon- 
key. And  Herbert  had  seen  him  as  a  predatory  Tartar,  of  comic 
propensities  with  a. face  like  a  red  brick,  and  an  outrageous  hat  all 
over  bells. 

i  dined  at  what  Herbert  and  1  used  to  call  a  Geographical  chop- 
bouse — where  there  were  maps  of  the  world  in  porter-pot  rims  on 
every  half-yard  of  the  table-cloths,  and  charts  of  gravy  on  every 
one  of  the  knives — to  this  day  there  is  scarcely  a  single  chop-house 
in  the  Lord  .Mayor's  dominions  which  is  not  Geographical— and 
wore  out  the  time  in  dozing  over  crumbs,  staring  at  gas,  and 
baking  in  a  hot  blast  of  dinners.  By-and-by  I  roused  myself  and 
went  to  the  play. 

There  1  found  a  virtuous  boatswain  in  his  Majesty's  service — a 
most  excellent  man,  though  I  could  have  wished  his  trowsers  not 
quite  so  tight  in  some  places  and  not  quite  so  loose  in  others — who 
knocked  all  the  little  men's  hats  over  their  eyes,  though  he  wag 
very  generous  and  brave,  and  who  wouldn't  hear  of  any*body's 
paying  taxes  on  any  account,  though  he  was  very  patriotic.  He 
had  a.  bag  ot  money  in  his  pocket,  like  a  pudding  in  the  cloth,  and 
on  that  property  married  a  young  person  in  bed-furniture  with 
great  rejoicings;  the  whole  population  of  Portsmouth  (nine  in  num- 
ber at  the  last  Census)  turning  out  on  the  beach  to  rub  their  own 
hands  and  shake  everybody  else's,  and  sing  "Fill,  fill !  "  A  cer- 
tain dark-complexioned  Swab,  however,  who  wouldn't  fill,  or  do 
any  thing  else  that  was  proposed  to  him,  and  whose  heart  was 
openly  stated  (by  the  boatswain)  to  be  as  black  as  his  figure-head 
proposed  to  two  other  Swabs  to  get  all  mankind  into  difficulties 

n 


30S  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS- 

which  was  so  effectually  done  (the  Swab  family  having  ponsidera- 
ble  political  influence)  that  it  took  half  the  evening  to  set.  things 
right,  and  then  it  was  only  brought  about  through  an  honest  little 
giocer  with  a  white  hat,  black  gaiters,  and  red  nose,  getting  into 
a  clock  with  a  gridiron,  and  listening,  and  coining  out,  and  knock- 
ing every  body  down-  from  behind  with 'the  gridiron  whom  he 
couldn't  confute  with  what  he  had  overheard.  This  led  to 
Wopsle's  (who  had  never  been  heard  of  before)  coining  in  with  a 
star  and  garter  on,  as  a  plenipotentiary  of  great  power  direcl 
the  Admiralty,  to  say  that  the  Swabs  were  all  to  go  to  prison  on 
the  spot,  and  that  he  had  brought  the  boatswain  down  the  Union 
Jack,  as  a  slight,  acknowledgment  of  his  public  services.  The 
boatswain,  unmanned  for  the  first  time,  respectfully  dried  his  eyes 
on  the  Jack,  and  then  cheering  up. and  addressing  Mr.  Wopsle  as 
Your  Honor,  solicited  permission  to  take  him  by  the  tin.  Mr.  Wop- 
sle  conceding  his  tin  with  a  gracious  dignity;  was  immediately 
shoved  into  a  dusty  corner  while  everybody  danced  a  horn  ipe  ; 
and,  from  that  corner,  surveying  the  public  with  a  disconti 
became  aware  of  me. 

The  second  piece  was  the  last  new  grand  comic  Christmas  pan- 
tomime, in  the  first  scene  of  winch  it  pained  me  to  suspect  that  I 
detected  Mr.  Wopsle,  with  red  worsted  legs  under  a  highly  magni- 
fied phosphoric  countenance  and  a  shock  »f  red  fringe  for  his  hair, 
engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  thunderbolts  in  a  mine,  and  display- 
ing great  cowardice  when  his  gigantic  master  came  home,  very 
hoarse,  to  dinner.  But  he  'presently  •presented  himself  under 
thier  circumstances;  for,  the  (renins  of  Youthful  Love  being  in 
want  of  assistance — on  account  Of  the  parental  brutality  of  an  ig- 
norant failner  who  opposed  the  choice  of  his  daughter's  heart,  by 
purposely  falling  upon  the  object  in  a  flour  sack,  out  of  the  first 
floor  window — summoned  a  sententious  Enchanter ;  and  he,  coming 
up  from  the  antipodes  rather  unsteadily,  after  an  apparently  vio- 
lent journey,  proved -to  he  Mr.  Wopsle  in  a  high-crowned  h  it,  with 
a  necromantic  work  in  onevolnme  under  his  arm.  The  business  of 
this  enchanter  on  earth  being  principally  to  be  talked  at,  sung  at, 
butted  at,  danced  at,  and  flashed  at  with  fires  of  various  colors, 'he 
had  a  good  deal  of  time  on  his  hands.  And  I  observed  with  great 
surprise  that  he  devoted  it  to  staring  in  my  direction  as  if  he  were 
lost  in  amazement. 

There  was  some  thing  so  remarkable  in  the  increasing  glare  of 
Mr.  Wopsle's  eye,  and  h»  seemed  to  be  turning  so  many  things 
over  in  his  mind  and  to  grow  so  confused,  that  1  could  not  make  it 
out.  I  sat  thinking  of  it  long  after  he  had  ascended  to  the  clouds 
in  a  large  watch-case,  and  still  I  could  not  make  it  out.  i  was 
still  thinking  of  it  when  I  came  out  of  the  theatre  ah  hour  -after- 
ward, and  found  aim  waiting  for  me  near  to  the  door.' 


GREAT' EXPECTATIONS.  207 

"  How  do  you  do  f,  shaking  hands  with  him  as  we.turn- 

ed  down  tin  street  together;     ",  I  saw  that  you  saw  me." 

"  Saw  you,  Mr.  Pip  !  "  be  returned.     "  Yes,  of  course  1  saw 
l'u!  Who  rise  was  there  I  "  * ' 

"Who  else  ?" 

"  It  is  the  strangest  thing,''  said  Mr.  Wopsle,  drifting  into  his 
lost  look-again  ;  "and  1  swear  to  him." 

r.eoinitig  alarmed,  1  entreated  Mr.  Wopsle  to  explain  his  mean- 
ing.        / 

"  Whether  1  should  have  noticed  him  at  first  hut  for  your  being 
there,  '  said  Mr.  Wopsle,  going  on  in  the  same  lost  way,  "  1  can't 
he  positive;   vet  I  think  I  should:" 

Involuntarily  I  looked  round  me,  as  I  was  accustomed  to  look 
round  me  when  1  wem  home;  for  these  mysterious  words  gave  me 
a  chill.  , 

;'  *  >h  !  he  can't  he  in  sight;"  said  Mr.  Wopsle.     "He  went  out- 
re I  weir,  oil'.     1    saw  him  go.'' 

Having  the  reason  that  1  had  for  being  suspicions,  I  even  sus- 
peVed  this  poor  actor,  i  mistrusted  a  design  to  entrap  me  into  some 
admission,.  Therefore  1  glanced  at  him  as  we  walked  on  together, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  I  had  a  ridiculous  fancy  that  he  must  be  with  you,  Mr.  Pip, 
till  I  saw  that  you  Were  quite  unconscious  of  him  sitting  behind 
you. there,  like  a  gh  i 

My  former  chill  crept  over  me  again,  but  I  was  resolved  not  to 
speak  yet.  for  it  was  quite  consistent  with  his  words  that  he  might 
lie  set  on  to  induce  me  to  connect  these  references  With  Provis. — 
Of  course  I  ,vas  perfectly  sure  and  safe  that  Provis  had  not  been 
there. 

"I  dare  say  you  wonder  at  me,  Mr.  Pip;  indeed  I  see  you  do. 
Put  it  is  so  \ery  strange  !  You'll  hardly  believe  what  1  am  going 
to  tell  you.     1  could  hardly  believe  it  myself  if  you  told  me.'' 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  I. 

"  No,  indeed. '  Mr.  Pip,  you  remember  in  old  times  a  certain 
Christmas-day,  when  you  were  quite  a  child,  and  I  dined  at  Gar- 
gery's,  and  some  soldiers  came,  to  the  door  to  get  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs mended  ? " 

"  I  remember  it  very  well." 

"  And  you  remember  that  there  was  a  chase  after  two  convicts, 
and  that  we -joined  in  it,  and  that  Gargery  took  you  on  his  back, 
and  that  I  took  the  lead,  and  you  kept  up  with  mo  as  well  as 
you  could  1  " 

9     "I  remember  it  all  very  well.**    Better  than  he  thought— except 
the  last  clause. 

"And  you  remember  that  we  came  up  with  the  two  in  a  ditch, 
and  that  there  was  a  scuffle  between  them,  aad  that  one  of  them 


308  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

had  been  severely  handled  and  much  mauled  about  the  face  by  the 
other  ?." 

"  I  see  it  all  before  me." 

"  And  that  the  soldiers  lighted  torches,  and  put  the  two  in  tfo% 
centre,  and  that  we  went  on  to  see  the  last  of  them,  over  the  black 
marshes,  with  thetorch-light  shining  on  their  faces — 1  am  particu- 
lar about  that;  with  the  torch-light  shining  on  their  faces,  when 
there  was  an  outer  ring  of  dark  night  all  about  us  ?'" 

"Yes,"  said  I.     "  1  remember  all  that.  '  % 

"Then,  Mr.  Pip,  one  of  those  two  prisoners  sat  behind  you. to- 
night,    I  saw  him  over  your  shoulder." 

.  "Steady.!"  I  thought.     I  asked  him  then,  "Which  of  the  two 
do  you  suppose  you  saw  1 " 

"The  one  who  had  been  mauled,"  he  answered  readily,  "  and 
I'll  swear  I  saw  him  !  The  more  I  think  of  him  the  more  certain 
I  am  of  him  1 " 

"  This  is  very  curious  !  "  said  I,  with  the  best  assumption  I  could 
put  on  of  its  being  nothing  more  to  me.     "Very  onri  >us  indeed  !" 

I  cannot  exaggerate  the  enhanced  disquiet  info  which  this  con- 
versation threw  me,  or  the  special  and  peculiar  terror  I  felt  at 
Compey's  having  been  b  hind  me  "like  a  ghost."  For,  if  he  had 
ever  been  out  of  my  thoughts  for  a  few  moments  together  since  the 
hiding  had  begun,  it  was  in  those  very  moments  when  lie  was 
closest  to  me  ;  and  to  think  that  I  should  be  so  unconscious  and 
off  rny  guard  after  all  my  care,  was  as  if  I  had  shut  an  avenue  of 
a  hundred  doors  to  keep  him  out,  and  then,  had  found  him  at  my 
elbow.  I  could  not  doubt  either  that  he  was  there,  because  1  was 
there,  and  that  however  slight  an  appearance  of  danger  there  might 
be  about ;us,  danger  was  always  near  and  active. 

I  put  such  questions  to  Mr.  Wopsle  as,  When  did  the  man  come 
in  ?  lie  could  not  tell  me  that;  he  saw  me  ;  and  over  my  shoul- 
der he  saw  the  man.  It  was  not  until  lie  had  seen  him  for  some  time 
that  he  began  to  identify  him  ;  but  he  had  from  .1  he  first  vague- 
ly associated  him  with  me,  and  known  him  as  somehow  belonging 
to  me  in  the  old  village  time.  How  was  he  dressed  ?  Prosper- 
ously, but  not  noticeably  otherwise ;  he  thought  in-  black.  Was 
his  face  at  all  disfigured  1  No,  he  believed  not.  I  believed  not, 
too,  for,  although  in  my  brooding  state  I  had  taken  no  especial  no- 
tice of  the.  peopje  behind  me,  I  thought  it  likely  that  a  face  at  all 
disfigured  would  have  attrated  my  attention. 

When  Mr.  Wopsle  had  imparted  to  me  all  that  he  could  recall 
or  I  extract,  and  when  I  had  treated  him  to  a  little  appropriate 
refreshment  after  the  fatigues  of  the  evening,  we  parted.  It  was 
between  twelve  and  one  o'clock  when  I  reached  the  Temple,  and* 
the  gales  Were  shut.  No  one  was  near  me  when  I  went  in  and 
went  home. 

Herbert  had  come  in.  and  we  held  a  very  serious  council  by  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  '       309 

fire.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  saving  to  communicate  to 
Wie'mmick  what  T  had  that  night  found  out,  and  to  remind  him 
that  we  waited  for  his  hint.  As  1  thought  I  might  compromise 
him  if  I  went  too  often  to  the  Castle.  I   made  this  communication 

by*  letter.  '  I  wrote,  it  before  1  went  to  hed,  and  went  out  and  post- 
ed it  ;  and  again  no  one  was  near  me.  Herbert  and  1  agreed  that. 
We  could  do  nothing  else  but  he  very  cautious.  And  we  were  very 
cautious  indeed — more  cautious  than  before,  if  that  were .possible — 
and  1,  for  my  part,  never  went  near  Chink's  Basin,  except,  when  I 
rowed  by,  and  then  I  only-looked  at  j\I i  1 L  Pond  Bank  as  I  looked 
at  any  thing  else. 


(  11  AFTER  XLVIII. 

The  second  of  the  two  meetings  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter 
occurred  about  a  week  after  the  first.  I  had  again  left  my  koat 
at  the  wharf  below  "bridge ;  the  time  was  an  hour  earlier  in  the  af- 
ternoon ;  and.  undecided  where  to  dine,  I  had  strolled  up  into 
Cheapside,  and  was  strolling  along  it,  surely  the  most  unsettled 
person  in  a  1  the  busy  concourse,  when  a  large  hand  was  laid  upon 
my  shoulder  by  some  one  overtaking  me.  It  was  Mr.  Jaggers's 
band,  and  he  passed  it  through  my  arm. 

"  As  we  are  going  in  the  same  direction,  Pip,  we  may  walk  to- 
gether.    Where  are  you  hound  for?" 

"For  the  Temple,  I  think,"  said  L 

"  Don't  you  know?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  Well,"  I  returned,  glad  for  once  to  get  the  better  of  him  in 
cross-examination,  "I  do  not  know,  for  I  have  not  made  up  my 
mind." 

"  You  are  going  to  dine  ?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers.  "  You  dor>'t  mind 
admitting  that,  I  suppose*?" 

"  No,"  I  returned.  "  I  don't  mind  admitting  that." 

"  And  are  not  engaged  ?" 
.  "  I  don't  mind  admitting,  also,  that  I  am  not  engaged." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  daggers,  "come  and  dine  with  me." 

I  was  going  to  excuse  myself,  when  be  added,  "Wemmick's 
coming."  So  I  changed  my  excuse  into  an  acceptance — the  few 
words  I  had  uttered  serving  for  the  beginning  of  either — and  we 
went  along  Cheapside  aud  slauted  off  to  Little  Britain,  while  the 


310  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

lights  were  springing  up  brilliantly  in  the  shop-windows,  and  the 
street  lamp-lighters,  scarcely  rinding  ground  enough  to  plant  their 
ladders  ofi  in  the  midst  of  the  afternoon's  hustle,  were  skipping  up 
and  down  and  running  in  and  out,  opening  more  red  eyes  in  the 
gathering  fog  than' my  rush-light  tower  at  the  Hum  mums  had 
opened  white  eyes  in  the  ghastly  wall. 

A.t  the  office  in  Little  Britain  there  was  the  usual  letter-writing, 
hand-washing,  candle-snuffing,  and  safe-locking,  that  closed  the 
business  of  the  day.  As  I  stood  idle  by  Mr.  Jaggersjs  fire,  its 
rising  and  falling  flame  made  the  two  casts  on  the  shelf  look  as  if 
they  were  playing  a  diabolical  g.mie  at  bo-peep  with  me;  while 
the  pair  of  coarse  fat  office-candles  that  dimly  lighted  Mr.  Jaggers 
as  lie  wrote  in  a  comer.,'  were  decorated  with  dirty  winding-sheets, 
as  if  in  remembrance  of  a  host  of  hanged  clients. 

We  went  to  Gerrard  Street,  all  three  together,  in  a  hackney- 
coach  :  and  as  soon  as  we  got  there  dinner  was  served.  Although 
I  should  not  have  thought  of  making,  in  that  place,  the  most  dis- 
tant, reference  by  so  much  as  a  look  to  Wemmick's  Walworth  sen- 
timents, yet  I  should  have  had  no  objection  1o  catel  wig  his  eye 
now  and  then  in  a  friendly  way.  But  it  was  not  lo  be  done.'  He 
turned  his  eyes  on  Mr.  Jaggers  whenever  he  raised  them  from  the 
table,  and  was  as  dry  and  distant  to  me  as  if  there  were  twin 
Wcmmicks,  and  this  was  the  wrong  one. 

"  Did  you  send  that  note  of  Miss  Havishanrs  to  Mr.  Pip,  Wem- 
mick V  Mr.  Jaggers  asked,  soon  after  we  began  dinner. 

"T?o,  Sir,"  returned  Wemmick  .;  "it  was  going  by  post  when 
you  brought  Mr.  Pip  into  the  office.  Here  it  is.  He  handed  it  to 
his  principal  instead  of  me. 

"It's  a  note  of  two  lines,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  handing  it 
on,  "  sent  up  to  me  by  Miss  Havisham  on'  account  of  her  not  being 
sure  oi'  your  address.  She  tells  me  that  she  wants'  to  see  you 
on  a  little  matter  of  business  you  mentioned  to  her.  You'll  go 
down  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  casting  my  eyes  over  the  note,  which  was  ex- 
actly in  those  terms. 

"  When  do  you  think  of  going  down 

"I  have  an  impending  engagement,"  said  I,  glancing  at  Wem- 
nvlek,  who  was  puttingfish  into  the  post-offiee,  "that  renders  me 
rather  uncertain  of  my  time.     At  once,*I  think." 

"  If  Mr.  Pip  has  the  intention  of  going  at  once,"  said  Wemmick 
to  Mr.  Jaggers,  "  he  needn't  write  an  answer,  you  know." 

Receiving  this  as  an  intimation  that  it  was  best  nor  to  delay,! 
settled  that  I  would  go  to-morrow,  and  said  so.  Wemmick  drank 
a  glass  of  wine  and  looked  with  ,a  grimly  satisfied  aii  at  Mr.  Jag- 
gers, but  not  at  me. 

"So,  Pip!  our  friend  the  Spider,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "has 
dayed  his  cards.     He  has  won  the  pool." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  311 

It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  assent; 

"  ft. i!i  !  fie  is  a  promising  fellow — in  his  way — but  be  may  not 
have  ii  all  Ins  own  way.  The.  stronger  will  witHn  the  6hd»birt 
!  he  stronger  has  to 'be  found  out  first.  If  he  sho:ild  turn  to,  and 
beat  her — 

"Surely1,"  I  interrupted,  with  a  burning  face  and  heart,  "you 
do  not  seriously  think  that  even  he  is  scoundrel  enough  for  that, 
Mr.  Jag$ty  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Pip.  I  am  putting  a  ease.  If  he  should 
turn  to  and  heat  her,  he  may  possibly  get  the  strength  on  his  side; 
if  it  should  he  a  question  of  rnteflcct,  lie  certainly  will  not.  It 
would  be  chance  work  to  give  an  opinion  how  a  fe.low  of  that  sort 
wili  turn  out  in  such  circumstances,  because  it's  a  toss-up  between 
two  results." 

"May  I  ask  what  they  are?" 

"A  fellow  like  our  friend  the  Spider,"  answered  Mr.  Jaggers, 
"either  beats  or  cringes,  lie  may  cringe  and  growl,  or  cringe 
and  not  grow!  ;  but  he  either  heats  or  cringes.  Ask  WeYnmick 
7iis  opinion." 

"  Hither  beats  or  cringes,''  said  Wemmick,  not  at  ail  address- 
ing himself  to  me*. 

"  So  here's  to  Mrs.  IVntley  Drummle,"  said  Mr.  J,aggers,  taking 
a  decanter  of  choicer  wine  from  his  dumb-waiter,  and  filling  for 
each  of  us  and  for  himself,  "and  may  the  question  of  supr  niacy 
be  settled  to  the  lad y.'s  satisfaction !  To  the  satisfaction  of  the 
lady  ami  the  gentleman  it  never  will  be.  Now,  Molly,  Molly, 
y,  Molly,  bow  slow  you  are  to-day  !" 

She  was  at  his  elbow  when  he  addressed  her,  putting  a  .dish 
upon  the  table.  As  she  withdrew  her  hands  from  it  she  fell  back 
a  step  or  two,  nervously  muttering  some  excuse,  and  a  certion  ac- 
tion of  her  fingers  as  she  spoke  arrested  my  attention. 

"  What's  the  matter  V  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"Nothing.  Only  the  subject  we  were  speaking  of,"  said  I, 
"  was  rather  painful  to  me." 

The  action  of  her  fingers  was  like  the  action  of  knitting.  She 
stood  looking  at  her  master,  not  understanding  whether  she  was 
free  to  go,  or  whether  he  had  more  to  say  to  her  and  would  call 
her  back  if  she  did  go.  Her  look  was  very  intent.  Surely,  I  had 
seen  exactly  such  eyes  and  such  hands  on  a  memorable  occasion 
very  lately  ! 

lie  dismissed  her,  and  she  glided  out  of  the  room.  But  she  re- 
mained before  met,  as  plainly  as  if  she  were  still  there.  I  looked 
at  those  bauds,  I  looked  at  those  eyes,  I  looked  at  that  flowing 
hair;  and  I  compared  them  with  other  hands,  other  eyes,  other 
hair,  that  1  knew  of.  and  with  what  those  might  he  after  twenty 
years  of  a  brutal  husband  and  a  stormy  life.  I  looked  again  at 
those  bauds  and  eyes  of  th«  housekeeper,  and  thought  of  thy  inex- 


312  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

plicable  feeling  that  had  come  over  me  when  I  last  walked — not 
alone — in  the  ruined  garden  and  through  the  deserted  brewery.  I 
thought  how  the  same  feeling  had  come  back  when  I  saw"  a  face. 
looking  at  me,  and  a  band  waving  to  me,  from  a  stage-coach,  win- 
dow ;  and  how  it  had  come  back  again,  and  had  flashed  about  me 
like  Lightning,  when  1  had  passed  in  a  carriage — not  alone — 
through  a  sudden  glare  of  light  in  a  dark  street.  I  thought  how 
one  link  of  association  had  helped'tbat  identification  in  the  theatre, 
and  how  such  a  link,  .wanting  before,  had  been  riveted  for  me  now, 
when  I  had  passed,  by  a  chance,  swift,  from  Estella's  name  to  the 
fingers  with  their  knitting  action,  and  the  attentive  eyes.  I  felt 
absolutely  certain  that  this  woman  was  Estella's  mother. 

Mr.  J  aggers  had  seen  me  with  Estella,  and  was  not  likely  to 
have  missed  the  sentiment  1  had  been  at  no  pains  U>  conceal.  He 
nodded  when  1  said  the  subject  was  painful  to  me,  clapped  me  on 
the  back,  put  round  the  wine  again,  and  went  on. with  his  dinner. 

Only  twice  more  did  the  housekeeper  reappear,  and  then 
stay  in  the  room  was  very  short,  and  Mr.  Jaggers  was  sharp  with 
her.  But  her  hands  were  Estella's  hands,  and  her  eyes  were  Es- 
tella's; eyes,  and  if  she  had  reappeared  a  hujidred  times  1  could 
have  been  neither  more  sure  nor  less  sure  that  my  conviction  was 
the  truth. 

It  was  a  dull  evening,  for  Wemrnick  drew  his  wine  when  it  came 
round  quite  as  a  matter  of  business— ►just  as  he  might  have  drawn 
his  salary  when  that  came  round— and  with  his  eyes  on  his  chief, 
sat  in  a  state  of  perpetual  readiness  for  cross-examination.  As  to  . 
the  quantity  of  wine,  his  post-office  was  as  indifferent  and  ready  as 
other  post-office  for  its  quantity  of  letters.  From  my  point  of 
view  he  was  the  wrong  twin  all  the  time,  and  only  externally  like 
the  Wemmuk  of  "Walworth. 

We  took  our  leave  early,  and  left  Together.  Even  when  we  were 
groping  among  Mr.  Jaggers's  stock  of  boots  for  our  hats,  ]  felt 
that  the  right  twin  was  on  his  way  back;  and  we  had  not  gone 
half  a  dozen  yards  down  Gerrard  Street  in  the  Walworth  direction 
betoie  I  found  that  I  was  walking  arm  in  arm  with  the  right  twin, 
and  that  the  wrong  twin  had  evaporated  into  the  evening  air. 

"  Well !"  said  Wemrnick,  "  that's  over.  He's  a  wonderful  man, 
without  ltis  living  likeness;  but  I  feel  that  I  have  to  screw  myself 
up  when  I  dine  with  :him — and  I  dine  more  comfortably  un- 
screwed." 

1  felt  thaMhis  was  a  good  statement  of  the  case,  and  told  him 
so. 

"  Wouldn't  say  it  to  any  body  but  yourself,"  he  answered.  "  I 
mow  that  what  is  said  between  you  and  me  goes  no  further." 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  Miss  Havisham's  adopted 

'ghter,  Mrs.  Bentley  Brummie  ?     He  said  no.     To  avoid  being 
\brupt,  I  th«D  spoke  of  the  Aged,  and  of  Miss  Skiffins.     H« 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  313 

looked  rather  sly  when  1  mentioned  Miss  Skiffins,  and  stopped  in 
the  street  to  blow  his  nose  with  a  roll  of  the  head  and  a  flourish, 
not  quite  free"  Trovp  latent  hoasifulness. 

"  Weniniick,"  said    I,  "do  y<m   remember  telling  me  before  I 
first    went  to   Mr.  Jaggers's  private   house,  to  notice  that   honse- 
»(fr?" 

"Did  If"  lie  replied.  "Ah.  I, dare  say  I  did.  Deuce  take 
me,"  Wp  added,  suddenly]  "  1  know  1  did.  1  find  I  am  not  quite 
unscrewed  yet.*' 

*■  A  wild  beast  tamed,  you  called  her,"  said  T. 
'  ml  what  do  you  call  her.'"  said  he. 

"The  same.     How  did  Mr.  .Taggers  tame  her,  Wemmick  ?" 

"That's  his  secret.     She  has  been  with  him  maiiy  a  long  year." 

••  1  wish  you  would  tell  me  her  story.  I  feel  a  particulaninter- 
e.-t  in  being  acquainted  with  it.  You  know  that  what  is  said  be- 
tween you  and  me  goes  no  further." 

"  Well  !"  Wemmick  replied,  "  1  don't  know  her  story — that  is, 
I  don't  know  all  of  it.  But  what  I  do  know,  I'll  tell  you.  We 
are  in  bur  private  and  personal  capacities,  of  course.'1' 

"  *  )f  course." 

\  score  of  years  ago  that  woman  wa^s  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey 
for  murder,  and  was  acquitted.  She  was  a  very  handsome  young 
woman,  and  I  believe  had  some  gipsy  blood  in  her.  Anyhtfw,  it 
was  hot  enough  when  it  was  up,  as  you  may  suppose." 

"  Bui  she  was  acquitted," 
•  "Mr.  .Taggers  was  for  her,"  pursued  Wemmick,  with  a  look  full 
of  meaning.  '•  and  worked  the  case  in  a  way  quite  astonishing.  It 
was  a  desperate  case,  and  it  was  comparatively  early  days  with 
him  then,  and  he  worked  it  to  general  admiration  ;  in  fad,  it  may 
almost  he  said  to  have  made  hum  He  worked  it  himself  at  the 
police-office,  day  after  day  for  many  .days,  contending  against  even 
a  commitlal  ;  and  at  the  trial,  where  he  couldn't  work  it  himself, 
sat  under  Counsel,  and — every  one  knew — put  in  all  the  salt,  and 
pepper.  The  murdered  person  was  a  woman — a  woman  a  good 
ten  years  older,  very  much  larger,  and  very  much  stronger.  It 
was  a  ease  of  jealousy.  They  both  led  tramping  lives,  and  this 
woman  in  Gerrard  Street  here  had  been  married  very  young,  over 
the  broomstick  (as  we  *ay).  to  a  tramping  man,  and  was  a  periled 
fury  in  point  of  jealousy.  The  murdered  woman — more  a  malch 
for  the  man,  certainly,  in  point  of  years — was  found  dead  in  a  barn 
near  Hounslow  Heath.  There  had  been  a  violent  struggle,  per- 
haps a  tight.  She  was  bruised  and  scratched  and  torn  all  over, 
and  had  been  held  by  the  throat  at  last  and  choked.  Now  there 
was  no  reasonable  evidence  to  implicate  any  person  but  this  wo- 
man, and  on  the  improbabilities  of  her  Inning  been  able  to  do  it, 
Mr.  Jaegers  principally*  rested  his  case.     You  may  be  sure," 


314  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Wemmick,  touching  me  on  the  sleeve,  "  that  he  never  dwelt  upon 
the  strength  of  her  hands  then,  though  he  sometimes  does  now." 

I  ,had  told  YVemmiek  of  his  showing  us  her  wrists '  that  day  of 
the  dinner-party. 

"Well,  Sir!"  Weminick  went  on;  "it  happened — happened, 
don't  you  see  ? — thatjfhis  woman  was  so  very  artfully  dressed  from 
the  time  of  her  apprehension,  that  she  looked  much  slighter  than 
she  really  was  ;  ■  in  parlioular,  her  sleeves  are  always  remembered 
to  have  been  so  skillfully  Contrived  that  her  arms  had  quite  a  deli- 
ea'e  look.  .She  had  only  a  hruise  or  two  about  her — nothing  for  a 
tr'aittp — but  the  backs  of  her  hands  were  lacerated,  and  the  ques- 
tion was,  was  it  with  finger-nails  1  Now,  Sir.  daggers  showed 
that  she  had  struggled  through  a  great  lot  of  brambles  which  were 
not  as*  high  as  her  face  ;  but  which  she  could  not  have  got  through 
and  kept  her  hands  out  of ;  and  bits  of  those  brambles  were  ac- 
tually found  in  her  skin,  and  put  in  evidence,  as  well  as  the  fact 
that  the  brambles  in  question  were  found  on  examination  to  have 
been  broken  through,  and  to  have  little  shreds  other  dress  and  lit- 
tle spots  of  blood  upon  them  here  and  there.  But  the  boldest 
point  he  made  was  this.  It  was  attempted  to  be  set  up  in  proof  of 
her  jealoirsy,  that  she  was  under  strong  suspicion' of  having,  at- 
about  the  time  of  the  nrlirder,  frantically  destroyed  her  child  by 
this  man — some  three  years  old — to  revenge  herself  upon  him.  iMr. 
daggers  worked  that  in  this  way.  '  We  say  these  are  not  marks  of 
foiger-nails  but  marks  of  brambles,  vt\\(\  we  show  you  the  brambles. 
You  say  they  are  marks  of  .finger-nails,  and  you  set  up  the  hypo- 
thesis that  she  destroyed  her  child.  You  must  accept  all  consequences 
of  that  hypothesis.  For  any  thing  we  know  she  may  have  destroy- 
ed her  child,  and  the  child  in  clinging  to  her  may  have  scratched 
her  hand's.  What  then  ?  You  are  not  trying  her  for  the  murder 
of  her  child  ;.  why  don't  you  ?  As  "to  this  case,  if  you  will  have 
scratches,  we  say  that,  for  any  thing  we  know,  you  may  have  ac- 
counted for  them,  assuming  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  you  have 
not  invented  them'?'  -To  sum  up,  Sir,"  said  Wemmick.  "Mr. 
Jaggers  was  altogether  too  many  for  the  Jury,  and  they  gave  in." 
"  Has  she  been  in  his  service. ever  since?" 
"Yes;  but  not  only  that,"  said  Wemmick.  "She  went  into  his 
service  immediately  after  her  acquittal  tamed  as  she  is  now.  She 
has  since  been  taught  one  thing  and  ^another  in  the  way  other 
duties,  but  she  was  tamed  from  the  beginning.* 
"  Do  you  remember  the  sex  of  the  child-?" 
"  Said  to  have  been  a  girl* 

"  Y'ou  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  to-night?" 
"  Nothing.     1  got  your  letter,  and  destroyed  it.     Nothing." 
We  exchanged  a  cordial  Good-night,  ano  I  went  home,  with  new 
atter  for  my  thoughts,  yet  with  no  relief  from  the  old. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  315 


PTER.  XLIX. 


Pj!tt!\<;  Miss  Havisham's  note  in  my  pockVt,  thai  it  mfflthl 
serve  as  my  en dentia's  for  so  soon  ^appearing  at  Satis  House;  in 
case  her  waywardness  should  lead  her  £o  express  any  surprise  at 
seeing  me.  I  vent  down  again  by  tie  coach  next  day.  But  I 
alighted  at  ilie  Ila  I'way  House,  and  breakfasted  there,  and  walk- 
ed the  re.--i  of  the  diManee;  for  1  sought  to'gel  intc  the  town 
Quietly-,  by  the  unfrequented  ways,  and  to  leave  it.  in  the  same 
manner. 

The  best  light  of  trie  day  was  gone  when  I  passed  along  the 
quiet  echawrg  courts  beliind  the  High  Street?.  The  nooks  of  rum 
where  the  old  monks  had  once  had  their  refectories' and  gardens, 
and  where  the  si  roug  walls  were  now  pressed  into  I  lie  service  of 
humble  sheds  and  stables,  were  almost,  as  silent  as  the  o!«l  monks 
in  their  graves.  The  cathedral  chimes  had  at  once  a  sadifrr  and 
a  more  lemote  sound  to  me,  as  1  hurried  on  avoiding  observation, 
than  they  had  ever  had  before;  SO,  the  swell  of  the  old  organ  was 
borne  to  my  ears  like,  funeral  music;  and  the  rooks,  as  ihcy  hov- 
ered about  Lite  gray  tower  and  swung  in  the  1>are  high  tiers  of  rhe 
prior*  -gulden,  seemed  to  ca.l  lb  niclhal  1  he  place  was  changed, 
and  liia!  Kstella  was  gone  out  of  it  for  ever. 

An  elderly  woman  whom  1  had  seen  be/ore  as  one  of  the  ser- 
vants who  lived  in  the,  supplementary  house  across  the  hack  conn 
yard  opened  the  gale.  The  Lighted  eandle  stood  in  the  dark  pas- 
sage within,  as  o!  old,  and  L  look  it  up  and  ascended  the  slaircase 
alone.  Miss  Havisham  was  not-  in  her  own  room,  but  was  in  the 
larger  room  across  the  lauding.  Looking  in  at  the  door,  after 
knocking  in  vain,  1  saw  her  sitting  on  the  hearth  in  a  ragged  chair, 
close  before,  and  lost  in  the  coiiteinplaiion  of,  the  ashy  tire. 

Doing  as  I  had  often  done,  1  went,  in,  and  stood,  touching  the 
old  chimney-piece,  where  she  could  see  me  when  she  raised  her 
eyes.  There  was  an  air  Of  ut  er  loneliness  upon  her  thai  would 
moved  me  to  pity  though  she  had  willfully  done  me  a  deeper 
injury  than  I  couM  charge  l.erwifh.  As  J  stood  compassion 
her,  and  thinking  how  in  the  progress  of  time  1  too  had  come  to 
he;:  pari  of  the  wrecked  fortune-;  of  that  house,  her  eyes 
me.     She  stared,  and  said   in  a  low  voice,  "  Is  it.  real  !  " 

"  It  is  I,  Pip.     Bfh". .!;.  ur  note  i.)  ,  a' 

I  bavw  loat  no  timv." 


316  '    GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Thank  you.     Thank  you." 

As  1  brought  another  of  the  ragged  chairs  to. the  hearth  air1  sat 
down  I  remarked  a  new  expression  on  her  face,  as  if  she  were  afraid 
me. 

"I  want,"  she  said,  "  to  pursue  that  subject  you  mentioned  to 
me  when  you  were  last  here,  and  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  all 
stone.  But  perhaps  you  can  never  believe,  now,  that  there  i^  any 
tiling  human  in  my  heart  1  " 

When  I  said  some  reassuring  words,  she  stretched  out  her  trem- 
ulous right,  hand,  as  though  she  we/e  going  to  touch  me;  but  she 
recalled  it  again  before  I  understood  the  action,  or  knew  how  to 
receive  it. 

"  You  said,  speaking  for  your  friend,  that  you  could  tell  me  how 
to  do  something  useful  and  good.  .Something  that  you  would  like 
done,  is  it  not?" 

"Something  that  I  would  like  done,  verv,  verv  much." 

«  What  is  it  ?  " 

i  began  explaining  to  her  that  secret  history  of  the  partnership. 
I  had  not  got  far  into  it  when  I  judged  from  her  look  that  she  was 
Ihinking  in  a  discursive  way  df  me  rather  than  of  what  I  said. — 
It  seemed  to  be  so,  for  when  1  slopped  speaking  many  moments 
passed  before  she  showed  that  site. was  conscious  of  the  fact. 

"  Do  yon  break  off,"  she  asked  then,  with  her  former  air  of  be- 
ing afraid  of  me,  "  because  you  hate  me  too  much  to  bear  to  speak 
to  me  %" 

"  No,  no,'"  1  answered,  "how  can  you  think  so,  ^liss  Havisham  ! 
I  stopped   because  I  thought  you  were  not  following  what   I   said." 

"  I'erhaps  I  was  not,"  she  answered,  putting  a  hand  to  her  head. 
"  Begin  again,  and  let  hh.'  look  at  something  else.  Stay!  Now 
tell  me." 

She  set  Inr  bands  upon  her  stick  in  the  resolute  way  that  some- 
times was  habitual  to  her,  and  looked  at  the  lire  with  a  strong  ex- 
pressinn  of  forcing  herself  to  attend.  I  went  on  with  my  expla- 
nation, and  told  her  how  I  had  hoped  to  complete  the  transaction 
out  of  my  means,  but  how  in  this  I  was  disappointed.  That  part 
of  the  subject  (I  reminded  her)  involved  matters  which  could  form 
no  parr  of  my  explanation,  for  they  were  the  weighty  secrets  of 
another. 

"  So  !  "  said  she,  assenting  with  her  head,  but  not  looking  at  me. 
"And  how  much  money  is  wanting  to  complete  the  purchase  V 

I  was  rather  afraid  of  stating  it,  for  it  sounded  a  large  sum. — 
Nine  hundred  pounds." 

"  If  I  give  you  the  money  for  this  purpose,  will  you  keep  my 
•et  as-  vou  have  kept  your  own  ?  " 
>ite*as  faithfully." 
nd  your  mind  will  be  more  at  rest  I  " 
ich  more  at  rest." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Ul 

"  Are  you  very  unhappy  now  ?  " 

ie  asked  this  question,  still  without  looking-  at  me,  hut  in  an 
unwonted  tone  of  sympathy!  I  could  not  reply  at  the  moment,  for 
my  voice  failed  me.  She  put  her  left  arm  across  the  crnlc  edhead 
of  her -stick,  ami  softly  laid   her  forehead  on  it. 

"  I  am  far  from  happy,  Miss  Ilavisham  ;  hut  I  have  other  caus- 
es of  disquiet  than  any  you  know  of.  They  are  the  secrets  1  have 
mentioned." 

After  a  little  while  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  the  fire 
again. 

"  It  is  noble  in  you  to  tell  me  that  you  have  ether  causes  of  un- 
happiness.     Is  it  true  .'  " 

"  Too  true." 

"  Can  1  only  serve  you,  Pip,  hy  serVjng  yVur  friend  ?  Regard- 
ing that  as  done,  is  there  nothing   1  can  do  for  you  yourself]" 

".Nothing.  I  thank  you  for  the  question.  I  thank  you  even 
more  for  the  tone  of  the  question.     Bui    there  is  nothing." 

She  presently  rose  from  her  seat,  and  looked  about  the  blighted 
room  lov  the  means  of  writing.  There  were  none  there,  and  she 
took  from  her  pocket  a  yellow  set  of  ivory  tablets,  mounted  in  tar-' 
rushed  gold,  and  wrote  upon  them  with  a  pencil  in  a  case  of  tar- 
nish d  gold   that  bimg  from  her  neck. 

'•  You  are  still  on  friendly  terms  with   Mr.  Jaggers  ?"     « 

".Quite.     I  dined  with  him  yesterday." 

"  This  is  an  authority  lo  him  to  pay  yon  that  money  to  lay  out 
at  your  irresponsible  discretion  for  your  friend.  I' keep  no  money 
hcre,  hut  if  you  would  rather  Mr.  Jaegers  knew  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter, I  will  send  it  to  you." 

''Thank  you,  Miss  Ilavisham;  I  -have  not  the  least  objection  to 
receiving  it  from  him." 

She  read  me  what  she  had  written,  and  it  was  direct  and  clear, 
and  evidently  intended  to  absolve  me  from  any  suspicion  of  profil- 
ing by  the  receipt  of  the  money'.  I  look  the  tablets  from  her  hand, 
and  it  trembled  again,  and  it  trembled  more  as  she  took  off  the 
chain  to  which  the  pencil  was  attached  and  put  it  in  mine.  Aii 
this  slie  did  without  looking  at  me. 

"  My  name  is  on  the  first  leaf.  If  you  can  ever  write  under  my 
name,  '  I  forgive  her,'  though  ever  so  long  after  my  broken  heart 
is  dust — pray  do  it  !" 

"Oh,  Miss  Ilavisham;"  said  I.  "  I  can  do  it  now.  There  have 
been  sore  mistakes,  and  my  life  has  been  a  blind, and  thankless  one. 
and  I  want  forgiveness  and  direction  far  too  much  to  be  hitter  with 
you. 

She  turned  her  face  to  me  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  avert- 
ed it,  and,  to  my  amazement,  I  may  even  add  to  my  terror,  dropped 
on  her  knees  at  my  feet,  with  her  folded  hands  raised  to  me  in  the 
manner  iu  which,  when  her  poor  heart  was  young  aud  Ireah  an 


318  GRE.VT  EXPECTATIONS. 

whole,  they  must  often  have  been  raised  to  Heaven  from  her  moth- 
er's side. 

'I1! i  see  her  with  her  white  hair  and  her  worn  face  kneeling 'at 
my  feet,  gave  me  a  shock  through  all  my  frame.  I' entreated  her 
to  rise,  and  got  my  arms  ahout  her  to  help  her  up  ;  hut  she  only 
pressed  thai  hand  of  mine  which  was  nearest  to  her  grasp,  and 
hung  her  head  over  it  and  wept.  I  had  never  seen  her  shed  a  tear 
before,  and,  in  the  hope  that  the  relief  might  do  her  g'eod,  I  bent- 
over  her  without  speaking,  fthe  was  not  kneeling  now,  but  was 
down  upon  the  ground. 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried,  dsspairingly.  "  What  have  I  clone  !  What 
have  I  done  !  '! 

"If  you*  mean,  Miss  Havisham,  what  have  you  done  to  injure 
me,  let  me  answer.  Very  little.  I  should  have  loved  her  under 
any  circumstances. —  Is  she  married?" 

It  was  a  needless  question,  for  a  new  desolation  in  the  desolate 
house  had  told  me  si;. 

"What  have  I  done!  What  have  I  done  !"  she  wrung  her 
hands,  and  crushed  her  white  hair,  and  returned  to  this  cry,  over 
and  over  again.     "What  have  I  done!      What  have  1  clone!  " 

I  knew  not  how  to  answer,  or  how  to  cmnf  >rt  her.  That  she 
had  doue  a  grievous  thing  to  take  an  impressionable  child  to  mould 
into  the  form  that  herVild  resentment,  spurned  affection,  and  wound- 
ed pride  found  vengeance  in,  i  knew  full  well.  But  that,  in  shut- 
ting cuit  the  light  of  day,  she  had  shut  out  infinitely  more  than 
that;  that,  in  seclusion,  she  had  secluded  herself 'from  a  thousand  • 
natural  and  healing  influences;  that  her  mind,  brooding  solitary, 
had  grown  diseased,  as  all  minds  do  "and  must  and  will  that  re- 
verse the  appointed  order  if  their  Maker,  I  knew  equally  well. — 
And  could  1  look  upon  her  without  compassion,  seeing  her  pun- 
ishment in  the  ruin  she  was,  in  her  profound  unfitness  for  this  earth  . 
on  which  she  was  placed,  in  the  vanity  of  sorrow  which  ha  i  be- 
coiiK'  a  master  mania,  like  the  vanity  of  penitence,  the  vanity  of 
remorse,  the  vanity  of  nnworthiness,  and  other  monstrous  vanities 
that  have  been  curses  in  this  world  ? 

"Until  you  spoke  to  her  the  other  day,  and  until  I  saw  in  you 
a  looking-glass  that  showed  me  what   1  once  felt  myself,  I  did  not 
know  what  1  had  done.     What  have  I  done  !     What  have  i  done  !"• 
And  so  again,  twenty,  fifty  times  over.     What  had  she  done  ! 
•    "  Miss  Havisham,"  I  said,  when  her  cry  died  away,  "  you  may 
dismiss  me  from  your  mind  and  conscience.  But  Estella  is  a  differ- 
ent case,  and  it  von  can  ever  undo  any  scrap  ot    what   you  fcavv 
iniie  amiss  in  keeping  a  part  of  her  right  nature  away  from  her,  it 
ill   he  belter  to  do  that  than  to  bemoan  the  past  through  a  bull- 
ed years." 
•  Xes,  yes,  I  know  it.    But.  Pip— mj  dear  I"    There  was  an 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  319 


earnest  womanly/compassion  for  me  in  her  new  affectbn.  "My 
dear!  Believe  this:  when  she  first  eame  to  me.  I  meant  to  save 
her  from  miserv  like  niv  own.     Al  first  I  meant  no  more." 

'•'Well,  well!"  said  I    .  ".I  hope  so." 

•'  lint  as  she  grew,  and  promised  to   he  Airy  heanlifnl.  T  gradu- 
al!} did  Worse,  and  with  my  praise's,  and  with  my  jewels,  and  with 
teachings,  and  With  this" .figure  of  myself  always  before  Iter  a 
Warning  to  hack  and  point  joy  lessons,  I  sidle  her  heart  away  and 
put  ice  in  its  ;  lace." 

"  Better,"  1  eotild  not  help  saying,  "to  have  left  her  a  natural 
heart,  even  to  be'  bruised  or  broken." 

With,  that.  Miss  ilavisham  ioo  ed  distractedly  at  me  for  a  while 
and  then  hurst  out  again.  What  had  she  done! 

"If  you  knew  all  my  story,'1  she  pleaded,  "you  would  have 
some cbtupassion  for  me  and  a  heller  understanding  of  me." 

"  Miss  Ilavisham,"  1  answered,  as  delicat.-ly  as  1  could,  "  I  be 
lieve  1  may  say  that  I  do  know  your  st  ry.  and  have  known  it 
ever  since  I  first  left  this  neighborlwod.  It  has  inspired  .me  with 
great  cynmiissefation,  and  1  hope.  1  understand  it  and  its  influ- 
ences. J  h»es  what  has  passed  between  us  give  me  any  excuse  for 
asking  you  a  question  relative  to  Est  el  U  .'  Not  as  she  is,  but  as 
she  was  when  she  lirst  came  lira-?" 

She  was  seated  on  the  ground,  with  her  arms  on  the  ragged 
chair,  and  her  head  leaning  on  them.  She  looked  full  at  me  when 
I  said  this,  and  replied,  "  Go  mi." 

"  JfVuo.se  child  was  Estella.'" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  don't  knoW  .'" 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

'.'  But  Mr.  daggers  brought  her  here,  or  sent  her  here  ?" 

'•  Broyght  her  here." 

••  Will  you  tell  me  how  that  eame  about  1" 

She  answered  in  a  low  whimper  and  with  great  caution  :  "  I  had 
been  shut  up  in  these  rooms'a  Imjig  lime  (1  don't  know  how  long; 
you  know  what  time  the  clocks  keep  here),  when  1  told  him  that  1 
wanted  a  little  girl  to  rear  and  save  from  my  fate.  I  had  first 
seen  him  when  1  sent  for  him  to  lay  t  lis  place  waste  for  me  ; 
having  read  of  him  in  the  newspapers,  before  I  and  the  world  part- 
ed. He  told  me  that  he  would  look  about  him  for  such  an  orphan 
child.  One  night  he  brought  her  here  asleep,  and  I  called  her 
Esteda."  .      * 

••  Might   1  ask  her  age  then  ?" 

"Abdul  three'.     She  herself  Knows  nothing,  but  that  she  was 

.  an  orphan  and  1  adopted  her," 

So  convinced  I  was  of  that  woman's  being  her  mother,  that  I 
wanted  no  e\idence  to  establish  the  fact  in  my  own  mind.  But  to 
au>-  luiud.  1  though U  the  connection  b«rw  wa&  clear  aud  btraigjit. 


3  20       ,  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

What  mire  could  I  hope  to  do  by  prolonging  the  interview?  I 
had  succeeded  on  liehalf  of  Herbert,  Miss  Havisham  had  told  me 
all  siie  knew  of  Estella,  I  had  said  and  done  what  I  could  to  ease 
her  mind.  No  matter  with  what  other  words  we  parted,;  we 
parted 

Twilight  was  closing  in  when  1  went  down  stairs  into  the  na- 
tural air.  I  ca'lcd  to  the  woman  who  had  opened  the  gate  when  I 
entered  that  I  would  not  trouble  her  just  yet;  hut  would  walk 
round  tiie  place  before  'caving  For  [  had  a  presentiment  that  I 
should  never  he  there  again,  and  I  ielt  that  the  dying  light  was 
suited  to  my  last  view  of  it. 

By  the  wilderness  of  casks  that  I  had  walked  on  long  ago,  and 
on  which  the  rain  of  year's  had  fallen  since,  rotting'thein  in  many 
places,  and  leaving  miniature  swamps  and  pools  of  waler  upon  • 
those  that  stood  on  end,  I  made  my  way  to  the  ruined  garden.  ■  I 
went  all  around  it;  round  by  the  comer  where  Herbert  and  1  had 
fought  our  battle;  round  by  the  paths  where  Estella  and  1  had 
walked.     So  cold,  so  lonely,  so  dreary  all  ! 

Taking  the  brewery  oh  my  way  back,  I  raised  the  rusty  latch 
of  a  little  door  at  the  garden  end  of  it,  and  walked  through.  I 
was  going  out  at  the  opposite  door. — not  easy  to  open  now,  for  the 
damp  wood  had  started  and  swelled,  and  the  hinges  were  yield- 
ing,'aid  the  threshold  was  encumbered  with  a  growth  of  fungus — 
when  I  turned  my  head  to  look  back.  A  childish  associa  ion  re- 
vived with  wonderful  force  in  the  moment  of  the  slight  action, 
and  I  fancied  that  I  saw  Miss  Havisham  hanging  to  the  beam. 
8o  strong  was  the  impression  that  I  stood  under  the  beam  shud- 
dering from  head  to  fool  before  I  Knew  it  was  a  fancy — though  to 
To  be  sure  1  was  there  but  an  instant. 

The  mournfnluess  of  the  place  and  lime,  and  the  great  terror  of 
this  illusion,  though  it  was  but  momentary,  caused  hie  to  feel  an 
indescribable  awe  as  1  came  out  between  the  open  wooden  gates 
where  I  had  once  wrung  my  hair  after  Est  lla  had  wunng  my  heart. 
Passing  on  into  the  front  court-yard,  I  hesitated  whether  to  call 
the  woman  to  let  me  out  at  the  locked  gate  of  which  she  had  the 
key.  or  first  to  go  up  stairs  and  assure  myself  that  Miss  Havisham 
was  as  safe  and  well  as  1  had  leffher.  L  look  the'latter  course 
and  went  up. 

I  looked  in  the  room  where  I  had  left  her,  and  I  saw  her 
seated  in  the  ragged  chair  upon  the  hearth  close  to  the  fire,  with 
her  back  toward  me.  In  the  moment  when  I  was  withdrawing 
my  head  to  go  quietly  away  I  saw  a  great  flaming  light  spring  up. 
ID  the  same  moment  I  saw  her  running  at  me,  shrieking,  with  a 
whirl  of  fire  blazing  all  about  her,  and  soaring  at  least. as  many 
feet  above  her  head  as  she  was  high. 

1  had  a  double-caped  great-coat  on,  and  over  my  arm  another 
liick  coat     That  I  got  tliem  uiL  closed  with.  Iter,  threw  her  down* 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  -  321 

amrgol  them  over1  her;  that  I  dragged  the  great  cloth  from  the 
table  for  the  same  purpose,  and  with  it  dragged  down  th,e  heap  of 
rottenness  in  the  midst,  and  all  the  ugly  things  that  sheltered 
there;  thai  we  were  on  the  ground! struggling  adlv  like  desperate 
enemies,  and  thai  the  closer  1  covered  her,  the  more  wildly  she 
shrieked  and  tried  to  free  herself;  that  this  occurred  [  knew  through 
the  results;  but  not  through  any  thing  I  felt,  or  thought,  or  kirew  I 
did.  1  knew  nothing  until  I  knew  that  we  were  on  the  ll  rt)r  by 
the  great  table,  and  that  patches  of  tinder  yet  alight  were  tl  iatii?g 
in  the  smoky  air,  which,  a  moment  ago,  had  been  her  faded  bridal 
dress. 

Then  1  looked  round  and  saw  the  disturbed  beetles  and  spiders 
running  away  over  the  floor,  and  the  servants  coming  in  with 
breathless  cries  at  the  door.  I  still'  held  her  forcibly  flown  with 
all  my  strength,  like  a  prisoner  who  bright  escape;  and  1  doubt  if 
I  even  knew  who  she  was.  or  way  we  had  struggled,  or  that  she 
harl  been  in  flames,  or  tfiat  the"  flames  were  out,  until  [saw  the 
patches  of  tinder  that  had  been  her  garments  no  longer  alight  but 
falling  in  a  Mack  shower  around  us. 

She  was  insensible,  and  I  was  afraid  to  have  her  moved,  or  e 
lied,  A  ustanoe  was  sent  for,  and  I  held  her  until  it  cam 
if  1  unreasonably  fancied  (1  think  I  did)  that  if  I  let  her  go  the 
fire  would  break  out  again  and  consume  her.  When  I  got  up,  on 
the  surgeon's  ooniing  to  her  with  other  aid,  1  was  astonished  to  sec 
that  both  my  hands  were  burned ;  for  I  had  no  knowledge  of  it 
through  the  sense  of  feeling.  ' 

( >a  examii  ation  it  was' pronounced  that  she  had  received  serious' 
hurts,  but  that  they  of  themselves  were  far  from  hopeless;  the 
danger  lay,  However,  mainly  in  the  nervous  shock.  By  the  sur- 
geon's directi  ms  her  bed  was  carried  into  that  room  and  laid  upon 
the  great  babble,  which  happened  to  be  well  suited  to  the  dressing  of 
her  injuries.  When  I  saw  her  again,  an  hour  afterward,  she  lay 
indeed  where  I  had  seen  her  strike  her  stick,  and  heard  her  say 
that  she  would  lie  one  day. 

Though  every  vestige  of  her  dress  was  burned,  as  they  told  me< 
she  still  had  something  of  her  old  ghastly  bridal  appearance  ;  for 
they  had  covered  her  to  the  throat  with  white  cotton-wool,  and  as 
she.  lay  with  a  white  sheet  loosely  overlying  that,  the  phantom  air 
of  something  that  had  been  and  was  changed  was  still  upon  her. 

1  found,  on  questioning  the  servants,  that  Estella  was  in  Paris, 
and  I  got,  a  promise  from  the  surgeon  that  he  would  write  to  her 
by  the  next  vest.  Miss  Havisham's  family  I  took  upon  myself; 
intending  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Matthew  Pocket  only, 
leave  him  to  do  as  lie  liked  about  informing  the  rest.  This  1  did 
next  day.  through  Herbert,  as  soon  as  I  returned  to  town. 

There  was  a  stage  that  evening  when   she  spoke  collectedly  of 
what  had  happened,  though  with  4  certain  terrible  vivacity.    To- 
£1 


322  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ward  midnight  she  began  to  wander  in  her  speech,  and  after  that 
it  gradually  set  in  that  she  saMirinnmerable  limes  in  alow,  solemn 
voice,  "  What  have  I  done  !  What  'nave  I  done!"  And  then, 
"  When  she  first  came,  I  meant  to  save  her  from  misery  like  mine."' 
And  1  en.  "Take  the  pencil  a  d  write  muter  my  name.  '  1  foi 
her ! '  "  .She  never  changed  the  order  of  these  three  sentences,  but 
she  sometimes  left  out  a  word  in  one  or  other  of  them  ;  never  put- 
'ling  in  another  word,  but  always  paving  a  blank,  and  going  on  to 
the  next  word. 

As  1  oould  do  no  service  there,  and  as  1  had,  nearer  home,  that 
pressing  reason  for  anxiety  find  fear  which  even  her  wanderings 
could  not  drive  out  of  my  mind,  I  decided  in  the  course  of  the 
night  that  I  would  return  by  the  early  morning  coabh;  walkingon 
a  mile  or  so,  and  being  taken  up  clear  of  the  town.  At  about  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  therefore,  I  leaned  over  her  and  tow 
her  lips  with  mine,  just  as  they  said,  not  stopping  for  being  touched, 
"Take  the  pencil  and  write  under  my  name,  '  1   forgive  her.'" 

It  was  the  first  time. and  the  last   time    I   ever  touched  her  in 
that  way.     And   I  never  saw  her  more. 


CHAPTER  L 


My  hands  had  h>  d  twice  or  thrice  in  the  night,  and 

in  the  morning.  My  lel't  arm  was  a  good -deal  burned  to 
elbow,  and  less  severely  as  high  as  the  shoulder ;  it  was  very  pain- 
ful, but  the  flames  had  set  in  thai  direction*,  and  I  felt  thankful  it 
no  worse!  3iy  rigttf  hand  was  not  so  badly  burned  but  that 
i  could  move  the  fingers.  It  was  bandaged,  of  course,  bul  much 
less  inconveniently  .than  my  left  hand  and  arm  :  those  1  carried  in  a 
;  and  I  Could  only  wear  my  coat  like  a  cloak,  loose  over  my 
shoulders  and  fastened  at  the  neck.  My  hair  had  been  caught  by 
the  fire,  hul  not  my  head  or  I 

When  Berebertiad  been  down  to  Hammersmith  and  seen  his 

father,  In  me  at   our  chambers,  and  devoted  the 

to  attending  on  me.     He  was  the  kindest  of  nurses,  and  at  stated 

times  took  j,  and  steeped  them  in  the  cooling  liquid 

was  kepi  ready,  and  put  them,  on  again  with  a  patient  tender- 

ss  that  i  was  deeply  grateful  for. 

\t  first,  as  I  lay  quier  on  the  sofa  I  tound  it  painfully  difficult, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  323 

1  might  say  impossible,  to  gel  rid  of  the  impression  of  the  gla^e  of 
the  flames,  their  hurry  and  noise,  and  the  fierce  Burning  smell.  If 
1  dozed  for  a  -- minute,  i  was  awakened  by  Miss  Havisham's  cries, 
ami  by  her  running  al  me  with  all  thai  height  of  lire  above  ber 
head.  This  pain  of  the  mind  was  much  harder  to  strive  against 
than  any  ho'dily  pain  I  suffered  ;  and  Herbert,  seeing  thai,  did  his 
utmost  to  bold  my  attention  engaj 

Xcither  of  ns  spoke  of  the  "boat,  but  we  both  thought  of  it. — 
That  was  made  apparent  by  our  avoidance  of  the  subject,  and  by 
oiir  agreeing — wiihout  agreeue.n1 — to  make  my  recovery  ol 

of  my  hands  a   question  of  so   many  hours,  not  oi'  so   many 

Weeks. 

My  first  question,  when   1   saw  Herbert  had  been,  of  course, 

wheiher  all  was  well  down  the  river  I  As  lie  replied  in  the  affirm- 
ative, with  perfect  confidence  and  cheerfulneess,  we  did  not  resume 
the  subject  until  the  day  was  wearing  away.  But  then, as  Herbert 
changed  the  bandages",  more  by  the  light  of  the  tire  than  by  the 
outer  light,  he.  went  back  to  it.  spontaneously. 

"1  sat  witli  Provis  last  night;  Handel,  two  good  hours." 

"  Where  was  Clara  V" 

••Dear  little  thing!"  said  ^Herbert.    "She  was  up  and  down 
with  Gruffandgrim  all  the  evening.      He  was  perpetually  pegging 
at  the  floor  tin'  moment  she  left   his  sight.     I  doubt  if  he  can  hold 
out  long   though.     What  with  rum  and  pepper — and  pepper 
rum — !  should  think  his  pegging  must  lie  nearly  over." 

"And  then  yon  will  be  married,  Herbert  !" 

"How  can  I  take  care  of  the  dear  child  otherwise?  Lay  \our 
arm  out  upon  the  back  of  the  sofa,  my  dear  boy,  and  I'll  sit  down 
her.  and  gel  tic  bandage  oil'  so  gradually  that  you  shall  not  know 
When  it  conies.  1  was  speaking  of  Provis.  Do  you  know,  Han- 
del, he  improves  ?  " 

••  1  said  to  you  I  thought  he  was  softened,  when  1  last  saw  h 

"  So  yoi  so  he  is.     He  was  very  communicative  last 

night,  and  bold  me  more  of  his  life.  You  remember  his  breaking 
off  here  about  some  woman  that  ho  had  had  great  trouble with. — 
Did  I  hurt  you?" 

I  had  started,  but  not  under  his  touch.  His  words  had  given 
me  a  start, 

"I  had  forgotten  that,  Herbert,  but  I  remember  it  now  \  on 
speak  of  it." 

"  Well!  He  went  into  that  part  of  his  life,  and  a  dark,  wild 
part  it   is.     Shall  1  tell  you.     Or  would  it  worry  you  just  now?" 

"  Tell  me  by  all  means.     Every  word  !  " 

Herbert  bent  forward  to  look  at  me  more  nearly,  as  if  my  r< 
had  been  rather  more  hurried  or  more  eager  than  be  could  > 
account  for.     "  Your  head  is  cool  ?"  ho  said,  touching  it. 


324  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

i 

"  Quite,"  said  I.  "  Tell  me  what  Provis  said,  my  dear  Her- 
bert." 

"  It  seems,"  said  Herbert,  " — there's  a  bandage  off  most  charm- 
ingly, and  now  conies  the  cool  one — makes  you  shrink  at  first,  my 
poor  dear  fellow,  don't  it  1  but  it  will  be  comfortable  presently — it 
seems  that  the  woman  was  a  young  woman,  and  a  jealous  wi  - 
man,  and  a  revengeful  woman ;  revengeful,  Handel,  to  the  last- 
degree." 

"  To  what  last  degree  ?" 

'•  Murder.     Does  it  strike  too  cold  on  that  sensitive  place  ?  " 

"  I  don't  feel  it.  How  did  she  murder  ?  Wiiom  did  she  mur- 
der 1 " 

"  Why,  the  deed  may  not  have  merited  quite  so  terrible  a  name,'^ 
said  Herbert,  "but  she  was  tried  fur  it,  and  Jaggers  defended  lier, 
and  the  reputation  of  that  defense  first  made  his  name  known  to 
Provis.  It  was  another  and  a  stronger  woman  who  was  the  vic- 
tim, and  there  had  been  a  struggle — in  a  bam.  Who  beiran.it,  or 
how  fair  it  was,  or  how  unfair,  may  be  doubtful  ;  but  how  i!  ended 
is  certainly  not  doubtful,  for  the  victim  was  found  throttled." 

"  Was  the  woman  brought  in  guilty  '.<" 

"  No  ;  she  was  acquired.     My  poor  Handel,  I  hurt  you  !  '•' 

"  It  is  impossible  to  be  gentler,  Herbert.     Yes  ]     What  else?  ' 

"  This  acquitted  young  woman  and  Provis,''  said  Herbert,  "  had 
a.  Rttle  child  :  a  little  child  of  whom  Provis  was  exceedingly  fond. 
On  the  evening  of  the  very  night  when  the  object  of  her  jealousy 
was  strangled,  as  I  tell  you,  the  yonng'woinan  presented  herself 
Before  Provis  for  one  moment,  and  swore  that  she  would  destroy 
the  chi  d  (which  was  in  her  possession)  and  he  should  never  see 
it  again  |  then  she  vanished.  There's  the  worst  arm  comfortably 
in  the  sling  once  more,  and  now  there  remains  but  the  right  band, 
which  is  a  far  easier  job.  I  can  do  it  better  by  this  light  than 
by  a  stronger,  for  my  hand  is  steadiest  when  I  don't  see  the  poor 
blistered  patches  too  distinctly.  You  don't  think*  your  breathing 
is  afftxted.  my  dear  boy?     You  seem  to  breathe  quickly." 

"  Ptthaps  I  do,  Herbert,     Hid  the  woman   keep   l.er  oath?'* 

"There  comes  the  darkest  part  of  Pruvis's  life.     8be  d\i\.'' 

"  That  is  he  says  she  did." 

"Why,  of  course,  my  dear  hoy,"  returned  Herbert,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise,  and  again  bending  forward  to  get  a  nearer  look  at 
me.     "  lie  says  it  all.     I  have  no  other  information." 

"No,  to  be  sure."  , 

'.'Now,  whether."   pursued  Herbert,  "lie  bad  used  the  child's 

-nother  ill,  or  whether  he  had  used  the  child's  mother  well,  Pro\is 

•n't  s.'v  ;  but,  she  had  shared  some  four  or  ii.e  years  (if  the 

-tched  life  he  described   to   us  at    this  fireside,  and  he  seems 

•ave  felt   pity  for  her,  and  forbearance  toward  her.      Therc- 

fc&jring  he  should  be  called  upon  to  depose  about  this  da- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  c25 

Strnyed  child,  and  so  he  the  cause  of  her* death,  he  hid  himself 
(much  ;is  lie  grieved  for  tlie  child),  kept  himself  dark,  as  he  says, 
our  of  the  way  and  on*  of  the  trial,  and  was  only  vaguely  talked 
of  as  a  certain  man  called  Abel,  out  of  whom  the  jealousy  arose. 
After  the  acquittal  she  disappeared,  and  thus  he  lost  the  child 
and  the  child's  mother." 

"  I  want  to  ask — " 

"A  moment,  my  dear  hoy,"  said  Herbert,  "and  I  have  done. 
That  evil  Compey,  the  worst  of  scoundrels  among?  many  scoun- 
drels, i •  im\ving<if  his  keeping  out  of  the  way  at  that  time,  and  of 
his  reasons  for  doing  so,  of  course  afterward  held  the  knowledge 
over  his  head  as  a  means  of  keeping  him  poorer,  and  working  him 
harder.  It  was  clear  last  night  that  ibis  barbed  the  point  of 
Provis's  hatred." 

"1  want  to  know,"  said  I,  "  and  particularly,  Herbert,  whe- 
ther lie  told  you  when  this  happened'/" 

"Particularly?  Let  me  remember,  then,  .what  he  said  as  to 
that-  His  expression  was,  "a  round  score  o'  year  ago,  and  a'nmst 
directly  after  I  took  up  wi'  Compey.'  How  old  were  you  when 
you  come  upon  him  in  the  little  church-yard?" 

"1  think  in  my  seventh  year." 

"Ay.  It  had  happened  about  tour  years,  then,  he  said,  and 
you  brought  into  his  mind  the  little  girl  so  tragically  lost,  who 
Won  d  have  been  your  age." 

"  Herbert,"  said  I,  after  a  short  silence,  in  a  hurried  way,  "can 
you   see  me   best  by  the  light  of  the  window,  or  the  light  of  the 

"  By  the  fire-light,"  answered  Herbert,  coming  close  again. 

'•  Look  at  me." 

"  I  do  look  at  you,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Touch  me." 

"  I  do  touch  you,  my  dear  boy." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  that  I  am  in  any  fever,  or  that  my  head  is 
much  disordered  by  the  accident  of  last  night?" 

"  N'-no,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Herbert,  after  taking  time  to  exam- 
ine me.     '•  You  are  rather  excited,  but  you  are  quite  yourself." 

",1  know  I  am  quite  myself.  And  the  man  we  have  in  hiding 
down  the  river  is  Estella's  Father." 


326  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


CHAPTER  LI. 


What  purpose  I  bad  in  view  when  I  was  hot  on  tracing  out  and 
proving  EstellaJs  parentage  I  can  not  say.  It  will  presently  be 
seen  that  i in*  question  was  not  before  me  in  a  distinct  shape  until 
it  was  pi,t  before  rue  by  a  wiser  head  than  my  nwn. 

But  when  Herbert  and  I  had  held  our  momentous  <  onversation, 
1  was  seized  with  a  feverish  conviction  that  1  ought  nol  to  hunt 
she  matter  down — that  1  ought  not  to  let  ii  rest,  but  'hut'l  oi 

i.e  Mr.  Jaggers,  and  come  at  the  hare  truth.     I  really  d >i 

know  whether  I  felt'that  1  did  this  for  Estella's  sake,  or  whether  i 
glad  to  transfer  to  the  man  in  whose  preservation  1  was  so 
much  concerned  some  rays  'of  the,  romantic  Interest  that  had  so 
long  surrounded  her.  Perhaps  the  latter  possibility  may  be  the 
neater  to  the  truth. 

y  way,  I  could  searcely  he  withheld  from  going  our  to  Ger- 
et  that  night.     Herbert's  representations  that,  if  I  did,  1 
should  probably  be  laid  up  and  stricken  useless  when  our  fugi- 
■ould  depend  upon  me,  aione   restrained  my  i 
>■.     On   the  understanding,  again  and  again   reiteratedt#tha1 
■  wi:at  would,  1  was  to  go  to  Mr  J  aggers  to-morrow,  1  at 
length  submitted  to  keep  quiet ,  and  to  have  my  hurts  looked  after, 
and  to  stay  at  home.     Early  next  morning  we  went  out  together, 
and  at  the  corner  of  Giltspur  Street  by  Smithfield*  I  left  Herbert 
j  into  the  City,  and  took  my  way  to  Little  Britain. 
periodical  occasions  when  Mr.  Jaggers  and  Wem- 
mick  went  over  the  office  accounts,  and  checked  off  the  vouchers, 
and  put  all  tilings  straight.     On  those  occasions  Wemmick  took* 
his  books  and  papers  into  Mr.  jaggprs's  room,  and  one  of  tin- 
staii's  clerks  came  down  into  the  outer  office.     Finding  such  clerk 
on  Wemmick's  post  that    morning,  1  knew  what  was  going  on  ; 
but  1  was  not  sorry  to  have  Mr.  Jaggers  and  Wemmick  together, 
as  V,  would  then  hear  for  himself  that  I  said  nothing  to 

compromise  him.' 

My  appearance  with  tuy  arm  bandaged  and  my  coat  loose  0 
my  shoulder  favored  my  object,  Although  I  had  sent  Mr.  Jag- 
gers a  brie:'  account  of  the  accident  as  soon  as  I  had  arrived  in 
town,  yet  1  had  to  give  him  all  the  details  now;  and  the  special- 
ly of  the  occasion  caused  our  talk  to  dry  and  bard,  and 
strictly  regulated  by  the  rules  of  evidence,  than  it  had  been 
ei'ore.     While   I  described  the  disaster  Mr.  Jaggers  stood,  ac- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  357 

cording  to  his  worft,  before  the  fire.  Wemmick  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  staring  at  me,  with  his  bands  in  the  pockets  of  his  trowsera, 
and  his  pen  put  horizontally  into  the  post.  The  two  brutal  casts, 
always  inseparable  in  my  mind  from  the  official  prooeedi 
seemed  to  be  congestively  considering  whether  they  didn't  smell 
fire  at  the  present  moment. 

My  narrative  finished,  and  their  questions  exhausted,  I  then 
produced  Miss  Havisham's  authority  to  receive  the  nine  hundred 
rfounds  for  Herbert.  Mr.  Jaggers's  eyes  retired. a  little  deeper 
into  his  head  when  1  .handed  him  the  tablets-,  but  he  presently 
handed  them  over  to  Wemmick,  with  instructions  to  draw  the 
cheek  for  his  signature.  White  that  was  in  course  of  being  done 
I  looked  on  at  Wemmick  as  he  wrote,  and  Mr.  Jaggers,  poising 
and  swaying  himself  on  his  well-polished  hoots,  looked  on  at  me. 
"I  am  sorry,  Pip,"  said  he,  as  1  put  the  check  in  my  pocket, 
when  he  had  signed  it,  "  that  we  do  nothing  for  you." 

"Miss  Havisham  was  food  enough  to  ask  me,"  T  returned, 
"  whether  she  could  do  any  thing  for  me,  and  I  told  her  No." 

'•  Every  body  should  know  his  own  business,"  said  Mr.  .Tag- 
gers. And  I«*aw  Wemmick's  lips  form  the  words  "portable 
property/' 

"  1  should  not  have  told  her  No,  if  I  had  been  you,"  said  Mr. 
Jaggers  ;   "  but  every  man  ought  to  know  his  own  business  best." 

••  Every  man's  busings,'1  said  Wemmick,  rather  reproachfully 
toward  me,  "  is  portable  property." 

As  I  thought  the  time  was  now  come  for  pursuing  the  theme  I 
had  at  heart.  I  said,  fuming  on  Mr.  Jaggers: 

"  I  did  ask  something  of  Miss  Havisham,  however,  Sir.  I  ask- 
ed her  to  give  me  some  information  relative  to  her  adopted  daugh- 
ter, and  she  gave  me  all   she  possessed." 

"Did  she?"  said  Mr.  daggers,  bending  forward  to  look  at,  his 
boots  and  then   straightening  himself.     "Hah!   I    don't  think   I 
should   have  done   so,  if  1   had  been    Miss  Havisham.     Bui 
ought  to  know  her  own  business  best." 

"  I  know  more  of  the  history  of  Miss  Havisham's  adopted  child 
than  Miss  Havisham  herself  does.  Sir.     I  know  her  mother." 

Mr.  Jaggers  looked  at  me  inquiringly,  and  repeated  "Mother?" 

"  1  have  seen  her  mother  within  these  three  days." 

"Yes?"   said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  And  so' have  you,  Sir.  And  you  have  seen  her  still  more  re- 
cently "  / 

••  Yes  .'"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

••  Perhaps  I  kuow  more  of  Estella's  history  than  even  you  do." 
said  I.     "I  know  her  father,  too." 

A  certain  stop  that  Mr.  Jaggers  came  to  in  his  manner— he 
was  too  self-possessed  to  change  his  manner,  but  he  could  no 
help  its  being  brought,  to  an  indefinably  attentive  stop — ussur 


328  '    •  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

me  tliat  he  did  not  know  who  her  father  was.  »This  T  had  strnng- 
]y  snspeeUd  from  Provis's  account  (as  Herbert  had  delivered  ii) 
of  bis  having  kept  himself  dark  ;  which  I  pieced  on  to'  the  fact 
that  he  himself  was  not  Mr.  Jaggers's  c  ient  until  some  four  years 
la'er.  and  when  he  could  have  no  reason  for  claiming  his  idemity. 
But  I  could  not  he  sure  of  this  unconsciousness  on  Mr.  Jaggers's 
pari  Ik  fore.  1  hough  I  was  quite  sure  of  it  now. 

"So!  You  know  the  young  lady's  father,  Pip?  said  Mr. 
Jaggers.  ,  .   • 

"  Yes,''  I  replied.  "And  his  name  is  Frovis — from  New  South 
Wales." 

Even  Mr.  .Taggers  started  when  I  said  those  words.  It  was 
the  slightest  start  that  could  escape  a  man.  the  most  carefully  re- 
pressed and  the  soonest  checked,  hut  he  (lid  start,  though  he  made 
ii  a  part  of  the  action  of  taking  out  his  pocket-ha'nd  kerchief.  I!n\v 
Wemmiek  received  the  announcement  1  am  unable  to  say.  for  1 
was  afraid  to  look  ar  him  just  then,  lest  Mr.  Jaggers  s  sharpness 
fchonld  delect  lhat  there  had  been  some  communication  unknown 
to  him  between  us. 

"  Aid  on  what  evidence,  Pip,"  asked  Mr.  Jaggers,  very  coolly, 
as  be  paused  with  his  handkerchief  half-way  to  nis  nose,  "dues 
Provis  make  this  claim  ?" 

"He  does  not  make  it,"  said  I,  "and  has  never  made  it,  and 
has  no  knowledge  or  belief  that  his  daughjer  is  in  existence." 

Fur  once  the  powerful  pocket-handkerchief  failed      My  .reply 

so  unexpecied   that  Mr.  .Taggers  put  the  handkerchief  back 

into  his  pocket,  without  completing  the  usual  pel  lorn, ante,  folded 

his  arms,  and  looked  with  stern  attention  at  me,  though   with  an 

immovable  faj  e. 

Then  1  told  him  all  I  knew,  and  how  I  knew  it ;  with  the  one 
reservation  lhat  I  left  himto  inier  that  I  knew  from  Miss  llavi- 
sham  what  J  in  fact  knew  fidm  Wemniie<.  J  was  very  careful 
indeed  as  to  that  Nor  did  I  look  toward  Wemmiek  until  1  had 
finished  all  I  had  to  tell,  and  had  been  for  some  time  si  enily  meet- 
i' g  Mr..laggers's  look.  When  I  did  at  last  turn  my  eyes  in 
Wemii  iek's  direction,  I  found  that  lie  had  unposted  his  pen,  and 
wa-  intent  upon  the  table  before  h'im. 

"Hah!"  said  Mr.  Jaggers  at  last,  as  he  moved  toward  the  pa- 
person  the  table.  •' — What  item  was  it  you  were  at,  Wemmiek, 
when  Pip  came  in  ?" 

But  I  eou  d  not  submit  to  be  thrown  off  in  that  way.  and  I 
made  a  passionate,  a  most  an  indignant,  appeal  to  him  to  be  more 
frank  and  manly  with  me.  1  reminded  him  of  the  false  hopes  into 
which  1  had  lapsed,  the  length  of  time  tl.cy  lad   lasted,  and  the 

scuvery  1  had  made;  and  I  hinted  at  the  danger  that   weigl  ed 

ya  my  spirits.  1  represented  myself  as  being  surely  worthy  of 
■i  little  confidence  trom  him,  in  return  for  the  confidence  1  had 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  .  329 

j n^t  now  imparted.  I  said  that  I  -did  not  blame  him,  or  snippet 
him.  or  mistrust  him,  luit  1  wanted  assyranctf  of  the  trulh  from 
hlin.  And  ii"  lie  asked  me  why  I  wauled  ii.aiid  why  I  thought  I 
had  any  right  to  it,  I  W,ou  d  1 1 -1 1  him.  Iinh-  as  he  cared  for  such 
poor -dreams,  that  I  had  loved  Estella  dearly  and  long,  and  tlat, 
although  1  had  lost  her  and  must  live  a  bereaved  life,  whatever 
concerned  Iter  was  slill  nearer  and  dearer  to  me  than  any  thing 
else  in  the  world.  And  seeing  that  Mr.'Jnggers  stood  quite  still 
and  silent,  and  apparently  quite  obdurate,  under  this  appeal.  I 
tinned  to  Wemmick,  and  said.  "Wemmiok,  I  know  you  In  he  a 
man  with  a  gNitle  heart.  1  have  seen  your  pleas, int  home,  and 
your  old  lather,  and  all  the  innocent,  cheerfii  ,  play  fit  ways  will) 
which  you  refresh  your  business  life.  And  I  entreat  you  to  say 
a  word  for  me  to  Mr.  Jaggers,  and  to  represent 'to  him  that,  all 
ciicumslanees  considered,  he  ought  to  he  more  tipen  with  me!-' 

1  ha\e  never  seen  two  men  look  more  oddly  at  one  another 
than  Mr  daggers  and  Wemmick  did  after  this  apostrophe.  At 
first,  a  misgiving  crossed  me  that.  VVemmuk  would  be  instantly 
dismissed  from  hisemp  pymenfc;  but  it  melted  as  I  saw  Mr.  dag- 
gers relax  into  some, thing  like  a  smile,  and  Wemmick  become 
holder. 

••  VC.liat's  all  this?"  said  Mr.  Jaggews.  "You  with  an  old  fa- 
ther, and  y<m  with  pleasant  and  playful  ways?" 

"Well!"   returned    Wemmick.     "If  1    don't    bring  'cm    here, 
what  does  it  matter  '.  ' 
*  "  Pip."  said   Mr.  Jaggers,    aying  his  hind    upon  my  arm,  and 
smiling  openly,  "this  man  must  be  the  most  cunning  impostor  in 
all  Loudon." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  Wemmiok,  growing  bidder  and  bold- 
er.    "  1  think  \  ou're  another." 

Again  they  exchanged  their  former  odd  looks,  each  apparently 
still  tlistfUstful  that  the  other  was  taking  him  in. 

"  You  with  a  pleasant  home.'"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

"  bince  it  don't  interfere  with  business,  '  returned  Wetivuick, 
"let  it  be  so.  Now  I  look  at  you,  Sir.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  j/oti 
might  be  planning  and  contriving  to  have  a  pleasant  home  of  your 
own  one  of  these  days,  when  you're  tired  <d"  this  work." 

Mr  Jiggers  nodded  his  lead  retrospectively  two  or  three  times, 
and  actually  drew  a  sigh.  "  Pip,"  said  he,  '«>  won't  ta  k  about 
•  poor  dreams;'  you  know  more  about  such  things  than  I,  having 
much  fresher  experience  id' that  kind.  But  about  this  other  mat- 
ter.    I'll  put  a  case  to  yon.     Mind  !   I  admit  nothing." 

lie  waited  for  me  to  declare  that  1  quite  understood  that  he  ex- 
ly  said  that  he  admitted  nothing. 

'Now,  Pip,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "put  this  case.  Put  the  case 
that  a  woman,  under  such  circumstances  as  you  have  mentioned, 
held  her  child  concealed,  and  was  obliged  to  communicate  Lbv 


330  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

fact  to  her  legal  adviser,  on  his  representing  to  her  that  he  must 
know,  with  an  eye  to  the  latitude  of  his  defense,  how  the  fact 
stood  about  that  child.  Put  the  case  that  ,at,  the  same  time  he 
held  a  trust  to  find  a  child  for  an  eccentric  rich  lady  to  adopt  and 
bring  up." 

"  I  follow  you,  Sir." 

"  Put  the  case  that  he  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  evil,  and  that 
all  he  saw  of  children  was  their  being  generated  in  great  numbers 
for  certain  destruction.  Put  the  case  that  he  often  saw  children 
solemnly  tried  at  a  criminal  bar,  where  they  were  held  up  to  be 
seen  ;  put  i he  case  that  lie  habitually  knew  of  their  being  impris- 
oned, whipped,  transported,  neglected,  casl  out,  qualified  in  all 
ways  for  the  hangman,  and  growing  up  to  be  hanged.  Put  the 
case  thai  pretty  nigh  all  the  children  he  saw  in  his  daily  business 
life  be  had  reason  to  look  upon  as  so  much  spawn,  to  develop  into 
the.  fish  that  were  to  come  to  his  net — to  be  prosecuted,  defended, 
forsaken,  made'orpHans,  be-deviled  somehow." 

"  1  follow  you,  Sir." 

"  Put  the  case  Pip,  that  here  was  one  pretty  little  child  out  of 
the  heap  who  could  be  saved;  whom  the  father  believed  dead,  and 
dare  make  no  stirabout;  as  to  whom,  over  the  mother,  the  legal 
adviser  had  this  power:  '  I  know  what  you  did,  and  how  you  did 
it.  You  came  so  and  so,  this  was  your  manner  of  attack  and  this 
the  manner  of  resistance,  yon  went  so  and  so,  you  did  such  and 
such  things  to  divert  suspicion.  I  have  tracked  you  through  it 
all,  and  I  tell  it  you  all.  Part  with  the  child,  unless  it  should  be 
ssary  to  produce  it  to  clear  you,  and  then  it  shall  be  produced. 
Give  the  child  into  my  hands,  and  1  will  do  my  best  to  bring  you 
Off.  If  yon  are  saved,  your  child  is  saved  too ;  if  you  are  lost, 
your  child  is  still  saved.'  Put  the  case  that  this  was  done,  and 
that  the  woman  was  cleared."  « 

"  1  understand  you  perfectly .ft 

"But  that  I  make  no  admissions?" 

"That  you  make  no  admissions."  And  Wemmick  replied, 
"  •  o  admissions." 

"Put  the  case,  Pip,  that  passion  and  the  terror  of  death  had  a 
little  shaken  the  woman's  intellects,  and  that  when  she  was  set  at 
liberty  she  was  scared  out  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  went  to 
him  to  be  sheltered.  Put  the  case  that  he  took  her  in,  and  that 
be  kept  down  the  old  wild  violent  nature  whenever  he  saw  an 
inkling  of  it  breaking  out.  by  asserting  his  power  over  her  in  the 
old  way.     Do  you  comprehend  the  imaginary  ca.^e  V 

"  Quite." 

"  Put  the  case  that  the  child  grew  up,  and  was  married  for 

uey.     Thar  the  mother  was  still  living.     That  the  father  was 

living.     That  the  mother  and  father  were  known  to  one  ano- 

were  dwelling  within  so  many  miles,  furlongs,  yards  if  you 


GREAT  EXPECTATION.-.  331 

like,  of  one  another.     That  the  secret  was  still  a,  seoret,  except 

that  you  had  got  wind  of  it.     Put  that  las!  rase  to  yourself  very 
carefully." 

"  I  do." 

"I  ask  Wetntnick  to  put  it  10  himself  very  careful, y." 

And  Wem mick  said,  "  1  do." 

".For  whose  sake  would  you  reveal  the  secret,  Pip?  For  the 
father's?  I  think  lie  would  not  be  much  t.Q£  better  for  the  mot 
For  the  mother's  ?  I  think  if  she  bad  done  such  a  deed  she  would 
be  safer  where  she  was.  For  the  daughter's?  1  think  it  would 
hardly  serve  her,  to  estahlisb  her  parentage  for  the  information  of 
ber  busband,  and  to  drag-  ber  back  to  disgrace  after  an  escape  of 
twenty  years,  pretty  secure  to  last  for  life.  But  add  the  case  that, 
you  had  loved  her.  Pip,  and  had  made  he'r  the  subject  of  those 
'  poor  dreams '  which  have,  at  onetime  ov  another,  heeil  in  the 
headset  more  men  than  you  think  likely,  then  I  tell  you  that  you 
had  better — and  would  much  sooner  when  you  had  thought  well  of 
it — chop  ofT  that  baudaged  left  hand  of  yours  with  your  bandaged 
right  hand,  and  then  pass  the  chopper  on  to  Wemmiek  there,  and 
cut  that  off,  too."  ' 

I  looked  at  Wemmiek,  whose  lace  was  very  grave,  and  who 
gravely  touched  his  lips  with  his  forefinger.  1  did  the  same,  and 
Mr.  daggers  did  the  same.  "  Now.  Wemmiek,"  said  the  latter 
then;  resuming  his  usual  manner,  "what  item  was  it  you  were  at 
when  Mr.  Pip  came  in  .'" 

(Standing  by  for  a  little,  while  they  were  at  work,  I  observed 
that  the  odd  looks  they  had  cast  al  one  another  were  repeated 
several  times  :  with  this  difference  now,  thai  each  of  them  seem- 
ed suspicious,  not  to  say  conscious!  ol  having  shown  himself  in  a 
weak  and  unprofessional  light  to  the  other.  Fortius  reason,  1 
suppose,  rhey  were  now  inflexible  with  one  another;  Mr.  daggers 
being  highly  dictatorial,  and  Wemmiek  obstinately  justifying 
himself  whenever  there  was  the  smallest  point  in  abeyance  fur 
a  moment.  1  had«never  seen  them  on  such  ill  terms;  for  gener- 
ally they  got  on  very  well  indeed  together. 

But  they  were  both  happily  relieved  by  the  opportune  app 
ance  of  Mike,  the  client  with  the  fur  cap  and   the  halm  of  wiping 
his  nose  on  his  sleev.e,  whom  1  had  seen  on  the  very  first  da 
my  appearance  within  those  walls.     This  individual,  who,  eh  her 
in  his  own  person  or  in  that  of  some  member  of  his  family,  see 

■  alwax  s  in  trouble  (which  in  that  place  meanl  Newgate),  called 
to  announce  that  his  eldest  daughter  was  taken  up  on  suspicion  of 
shop-lifting.      As  he  imparted   this   melancholy   cireumstanc 
Wemmiek,  Mr.  daggers  standing  magisterially  befoi 
taking  no  share  in  the  procei  i.e's  eye  happened  totwi 

with  a  tear. 


332  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  What  areynn  about  ?  "  demanded  Wemmiek,  with  the  utmost 
indignation.     '-What  do  yon  come  snivelling  here  fur?" 

"  I  didn't  go  in  do  if.  Mr.  Wemmiek.'* 

••  You  Old,"  said  Wemmiek.  "  How  dare  you?  You're  not  in 
a  fit  stale  'o  conn'  here,  if  you  ean't  come  here  without  spluttering 
like  a  bad   pen.     What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?" 

"A  man  can't  help  hi*  feelings,  Mr.  Weiumick,"  pleaded  Mike. 

'•  His  what  t"  demanded  Wemmiek,  quite  savagely.  "  Say  that 
again  !  " 

"  Now,  look  here  my  man,"  sail  Mr.  .Taggers,  advaneing  a  step, 
and  pointing  to  the  door.  "Get-out  of  this  office.  I'll  have  no 
feelings  here.     Get  out.  ' 

"  It  serves  yon  right,"  said  Wemmiek.     "Get  out." 

So  the  unfortunate  Mike  very  humbly  withdrew,  and  Mr.  Jag- 
gers  ami  Wemmiek  appeared  to  have  re-established  their  good  un- 
derstanding, and  went  to  work  again  with  a  visible  refreshment  up- 
on them,  as  if  they  had  just  had  lunch. 


CHAPTER  LIL 


From  Little  Britain  I  wenj,  with  my  cheek  in  my  pocket,  to 
Miss  Skifh'ns  s  brother,  the  accountant ;  and  Miss  Skiffins's  brother, 
the  accountant,  going  straight  to  Clarriker's,  and  bringing  dan- 
ker to  me,  1  had  the  great  satisfaction  of  completing  that  arrange- 
ment. It  was  tire  only  good  thing  I  had  done,  and  the  only  com- 
pleted thing  I  had  done,  since  1  was  first  apprised  of  my  great  ex- 
pectations. 

Clarriker  informing  me  on  that  occasion  that  the.  affairs  of  the 
house  were  steadily  progressing,  that  he  would  now  be  able  to  es- 
tablish a  small  branch-house  in  the  East,  which  was  much  wanted 
for  the  extension  of  the  business,  and  that  Herbert  in  his  new 
partnership  capacity  would  go  out  and  take  charge  of  it,  I  found 
that  1  must  have  prepared  for  a  separation  from  my  friend,  even 
though  my  own  affairs  had  been  more  settled:  And  now  indeed  I 
felt  as  if  my  last  anchor  were  loosening  its  hold,  and  1  should  soon 
\  driving  with  the  winds  and  waves. 

"Hut  there  was  recompense  in  the  joy  with  which  Herbert  came 
e  of  a  night  and  told  me  of  these  changes,  little  imagining 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  •  333 

that  he  told  me  no  news,  and  sketched  airy  pictures  of  himself 
Conducting  Clara  Barley  to  the  land  of  the  Arabian  Knights,  and 
of  me  going  out  to  join  tlirin  (with  a  caravan  of  camels,  I  be- 
lieve), and  of  our  going  up  the  Nile  auda  seeing  wonders.  With- 
out being  sanguine  as  to  my  own  part  in  these  A>right  plans,  1  fell 
that  Herbert's  way  was  clearing  fast,  and  thai  old  Mill  Barley  had 
bin  to  stick  to  his  pepper  and  rum, -and  his  daughter  Would  soon 
be  happily  provided   for. 

We  had  dow  got  into  the  month  of  Marc!!;  My  left  arm.  though 
it  presented  No  bad  symptoms,  took  in  the  natural  course  so  long 
to  heal  that  I  was  slill  unable  to  gel  a  coat  on.  My  rig  hi  hand 
was  tolerably  restored — lishgured.  but  fairly  serviceable. 

( )n  a  Monday  morning,  when  Herbert  and  1  wen-  at  breakfast, 
1  received   the  following  letter  from  We nl i nick  by  the  posl  : 

■•  Walworth.  Burn  mis  as  soon  as  read.  Early  in  the  week, flr 
say  Wednesday,  you  might  ilo  what  you  kn  >w  of,  if  you  fell  dis- 
posed to  try  it.     Now  burn." 

When  1  had  shown  this  to  Herbert,  and  had  pu1  it  in  the  fire 
— but  not  before  we  had  both  go1  it  by  heart — we  considered  what 
to  do.  For,  uf  course,  my  being  disabled  could  no  lunger  be  kept 
out  of  view. 

"  I   have  thought  if  over,  again  and  again,"  said  Herbert,  "and 
]  think  1   know  a  better  course  than   taking  a  Thumbs  waterman. 
Take  Start  op.     A  good  fellow,  a  skilled  hand,  fond  of  iis,  and  en- 
thusiastic and  honorable. 
•    1    had  thought  c\'  him  more  than  once. 

"  Bu1  how  much  would  you  tell  him, 'Herbert ? " 

"  It'is  necessary  to  tell  him  very  little.  Let  him  suppose  it  a 
mere  freak,  lm;  a  '  ecret  one,  unlit  the  morning  comes  ;  then  let 
him  know  thai  there  is  urgent  reasons  tor. your  getting  Pruvis 
board  and  away.     You  gu  with  him  >  "  , 

"  No  duihr.'.' 

"  Where  .'" 

It  bad  seemed  to  me  in  Hie  many  anxious  considerations  I  1  al 
given  to  the  point,  almost  hftlift'ereiii  what  port  we  made  fm  — 
Hamburg,  Rotterdam,  or  Antwerp.  The  place  signified  litth 
that  he  was  got  mil  of  Bfcgland.  Any  foreign  steamer  that  fell  lit 
our  way.  and  would  take  us  up,  would  do.  1  had  always  proposed 
to  myself  to  get  him  well  down  the  river  in  the  boat, certainly  well 
beyond  Gfravesend,  which  was  a  critical  place  for  search  or  inquiry 
if  suspicion  were  af  ot.  As  foreign  steamers  would  leave  London 
al  about  the  time  of  high-water,  our  plan  would  be  to  gel  down 
Hie  river  by  a  previous  ebb-tide,  and  lie  by  in  some  quiet  spot  un- 
til we  could  pull  off  to  one.  The  line  when  one  would  he  dug 
ere  we  lay.  \vhere\er  thai  might  be,  could  be  calculated  put  y 
nearly,  if  we  made  inquiries  beforehand. 

Herbert  availed  to  ail  tiiisi,  and  we  went  out  immediately  after 


334  .  GREAT  .EXPECTATIONS. 

breakfast  to  pursue  our  investigations.  We  found  that  a  steamer 
for  Flam  burg  was  likely  to  suit  our  purpose  best,  and  we  directed 
our  thoughts  chiefly  to  that  vessel.  But  we  noted  down  what  other 
foreign  steamers. would  leave  London  with  the  same  tide,  and  we 
satisfied  ourselves  tjmt  we  knew  the  build  and  color  of  each.  We 
then  separated  for  a  few  hours  ;  I  to  get  at  once  such  passports  as 
were  necessary,  Herbert  to  see  fStartdp  at  his  lodgings.  We  both 
did  what  we  had  to  do  without  any  hindrance,  and  when  we  met 
in  at  one  o'clock  reported  it  done.  I,  for  my  part,  was  prepar- 
ed with  passports';  Herbert  .had  seen  Startop,  and  he  was  more 
than  ready  to  join. 

Those  two  should  pull  a  pair  of  oars,  we  settled,  and  I  could 
steer;  our  charge  would  be  sitter  and  keep  quiet;  as  speed  was 
no!  our  object,  -we  should  make  way  enough.  We  arranged  that  Her- 
bert should  not  come  home  to  dinner  before  goir.g  to  Mill  Pond 
Bank  that  evening;  t Fiat  we  should  not  go  there  at  all  to-morrow 
evening:  Tuesday  ;  that  he  should  prepare  Provis  to  come  down 
to  some  stairs  hard  by  the  house,  on  Wednesday,  when  lie  saw  us 
approach,  and  not  sooner; .and ihat  all  the  arrangements  with  him 
iid  be  concluded  that  Monday  night ;  and  that  he  should  be 
communicated  with  no  more  in  any  way  until  we  took  him  on 
board. 

These  precautions  well  understood  by  both  of  us,  I  went  home. 

On  opening  the  outer  door  of  our  chambers  with  my  key,Iiound 
a  letter  in  the  box.  directed  to  me — a  very  dirty  letter,  although 
not  ill-written.  It  had  been  delivered  by  hand  (of  course  since  I 
left  home),  and  its  contents  were  these: 

"If  you  are  not  afraid  to  come  to  the  old  marshes  to-night  or 
to-morrow  night  at  nine,  and  to  come  to  the  little  sluice-house, by 
ihe  lime-kiln,  yen  had  better  come.  If  you  want  information  re- 
garding your  uncle  Provis.you  had  much  better  come  and  tell  no 
one  and  lose  no  time.  You  must  come  alone.  Bring  this  with 
you." 

I  had  had  load  enough  upon  my  mind  before  the  receipt  of  this 
strange  letter.  What  to  do  now  I  could  not  tell.  Ami  the  worst 
was.  that  I  must  decide  quickly,  or  I  should  miss  the  afternoon 
coach,  which  would  take  me  down  in  time  for  to-night.  To-mor- 
row night  I  could  not  think  of  going,  for  it  would  be  too  close  Upon 
the  time  of  the  flight.  And  again,  for  anything  I  knew,  the  prof- 
fered information  might  have  some  important  bearing  on  the  flight 
itself. 

If  I  had  had  ample  time  for  consideration   I  believe  I  should 

still  have  gone.     Having  hardly  any  time  for  consideration — my 

vatch  showing  me  that  the  coach    started  within  half  an  hour — 

vesolved  to  go.     I  should  certainly   not  have   '/one   but   for  the 

rence  to  my  Uncle  Provis  ;  that,  coming  on  Wemmick's  letter- 

'-.he  morning's  busy  preparation,  turned  the  scale. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  333 

It  is  so  difficult,  to  become  clearly  possessed  of  the  contents  of 
almost  any  letter,  in  a  violent  hurry,  that  1  had  to'  read  this  mys- 
terious episile  again,  twice,  before  its  injunction  to  me  to  be  aecrel 
gpl  mechanically  into  my  mind.  Yielding  to  it  in  tire  same  me-, 
chanical  kind  of  way.  1  led  a  note  in  pencil  for  Berbert,  telling 
him  that  as  I  should  he  so  soon  going  away,  I  knew  uol  for  how 
long,  1  had  decided  to  hurry  down  and  hack,  to  ascertain  for  my- 
self how  Miss  Havisham  was  faring.  I  had  then  barely  time  to 
get  my  great-coat,  loch"  up  the  chambers,  and  make  for  the 
coach-office  by  the  short  by-ways.  If  I  had  taken  a  hacknej 
chariot  and  gone  by  the  streets,  1  should  have  missed  my  aim; 
going  as  I  did,  1  caught  the  coach  just  as  it  came  out  of  the  yard. 
1  was  the  only  inside  passenger;  jolting  away  knee-deep  in  straw, 
when  !  came  lo  myself. 

I  really  had  not  been  myself  since  ihe  receipt  of  the  letter: 
ad  so  bewildered  me,  ensuing  on  the  hurry  of  the  morning, 
morning  hurry  ami  Butter  had  been  great,  for.  long  and  anx- 
iously as  I  had  waited  for  YVemmick.  his  hint  had  CQme  like  a 
surprise  ai  last.  And  now  1  began  to  wonder  at  myself  for  being 
in  the  coach,  arid  to  doubt  whetner  I  had  sufficient,  reason  for 
being  there,  and  to  consider  whether  I  should  gel  out*  presently 
and  go  hack,  and  to  argue  against  ever  heeding  an  anonymous 
communication,  and,  in  short,  to  pass  through  all  those  phase's  of 
contradiction  and  indecision  td  which  1  suppose  very  few  hurried 
people  are  strangers.  Still,  the  reference  to  Provis  byname  mas- 
tered every  thing.  1  reasoned  as  I  had  reasoned,  already  without 
knowing  it — if  that  be  reasoning — in  case  any  harm  should  befall 
him  through  my  not  going,  how  could  1  ever  forgive  myself! 

Ji  was  dark  before  we  got  down,  and  the  journey  seemed  long 
and  dreary  to  me  who  could  see»little  of  ir  inside,  and  who  could 
go  outside  in  my  disabled  stale.     Avoiding  the  Blue  Boar,  L 
up,  ai  an  inn  of  'minor  reputation  down  the  town,  and  ordered 
e  dinner.     While  it   was   preparing.  1    weul    lo  Satis    Ho 
and  inquired   for  Miss  Havisham  ;  she  was  still  ver\  ill 
considered  something  better. 

My  inn  had  once  been  a  part  of  an  ancient  ecclesiastical  house. 

ami   1  djned  in  a  lit  tie  octagonal  common-room,  like  a  font.     As 

i   was  not  aide  to  cut  my  dinner,  the  old  landlord  with  a  shining 

ba  d  head  did  it  for  me.     This  bringing  us  into  conversation,  he 

-  in  entertain  me  with  my  own  story — of  course  with 

;!,i   popular  feature  that  Pumhlechook  was  my  ealiest   benefactor 

ounder  of  my  fortunes. 

o  you  know  the  young  man,"  said  I. 

"  Know  him  !"  repealed  ihe  landlord.     "  Ever  since  he  was  no 

;  al  all." 
"  Does  he  ever  come  hack  to  this  neighborhood  V 
••  Ay,  he  comes  hack,"  said  the  landlord,  "  to  bi«  great  friends 


336  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

now  and  again,. and  gives  the  co  d  shoulder  to  the  man  that  made 

hiiii." 

"  What  man  is  that  ?" 

"linn   lli'at    1   speak   of,"  said   the   land  ord.       "Mr.  Pumble- 

ehook." 

••  1*  In-  ungrateful  tit  no  one  else  '?" 

"Nd  difulrt  he  would  he  if  he  could."  relurned  the  landlord  : 
"hut  he  can't.  And  why?  Because  Pumblechook  done  every 
thing  for  him."    ' 

'•  Dues  l'nmlilechook  say  so?" 

"  Say  so  ! "  replied  the  landlord.     "  He  han't  no  call  to  say  so." 

'•  liiii  (loes  lie  say  so  \" 

"  It  would  linn  a  man's  liloi  d  to  white  wine  winrgar  to  hear 
him  lell  uf  il.  Sir."  said  the  landlord. 

I  thought.  '•  Yet  Joe,  dear  J«ie,  yo$  never  tell  of  it  !  Loi'g- 
snfierii  'fi  and  h>vii  g  Joe,  ynu  never  complain  !  Nor  you,  sweet- 
tempi  u  d  Biddy  !" 

••  Vt  n r  ai'j  elite's  lieerj  t<  uch<  d  like  by  your  accident,''  said  I  he 
hftidl'itd  glancing  al  the  bandaged  aim  under  my  coat.  "Try  a 
lei  (Icier  hit." 

"No.  thVnk  yon,"  1  replied,  turning  from  the  talc  to  breed 
over  lie  fire.     "  I  can  eai  no  more.     Pleaae  take  it  away." 

1  had  never  been  struck  at  so  keel  ly  for  my  iliank  cssee^s  to 
dot-  as  i  hrmigli  1 1  e  bra/en  impostor  Punihlechuolc.  '1  he  falser  he, 
I  uer  .li  e  :    the  m   aner  he.  the  nobler  doe. 

II)  heart  was  deeply  aid  most  deserved  y  humbled  a*  I  mused 

i\er  ilie  fire  for  an   hour  or  more.      The  striking  of  the  clock 

sed  me.  bnl  not.  from  ny  d'jiction  or  remorse,  aid  1  go)  rip 

and  had  my  coat  fastened  around  my  neck,  and  weni  out      I  had 

previous!)  sought  \Vi  n i y  pockets  (or  the  letter  that  I   might  refer 

to  it  again,  hut  con  d  not  find  it.  and   was  uneasy  to   think  that  if 

have  been  dropped  in  the  straw  of  the  coach.     I  knew  very 

however,  thai  I  he  appointed  place  was   the  little  sluice-house 

hy  lie  line  k.ln  on  the  marshes, and  the  hour  nine.     Toward   the 

urarshes  1  now  went  straight,  having  no  time  to  spare. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


CHAPTER  LI  IT. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  though  the  full  moon  rose  as  I  left  the  in- 
closed lands,  and  passed  out  upon  the  marshes.  Beyond  their  dark 
line  there  w;  8  a  ribbon  of  clear  sky.  hardly  broad  enough  to  hold 
the  red  large  moon.  In  a  few  minutes  she  had  ascended  out  of 
that  clear  field,  in  among  the  piled  mountains,  of  cloud. 

There  was  a  melancholy  wind,  and  the  marshes  were  very  dis- 
mal. A  stranger  would  have  found  them  insupportable,  and  even 
to  me  they  were  so  oppressive  that  I  hesitated,  half  inclined  to%o 
hack.  But  1  knew  them  well,  and  could  have  found  my  way  on  a 
far  darker  night,  and  had  no  excuse  for  returning,  being 
having  come  there  against  ray  inclination,  I  went  on  againsl  it. 

The  direction  thai   1   took  was  not  that  in  which  my  old  h 
lay,  nor  that    in   which  we   had  pursued  the  convicts.     M\ 
was  turned  toward  the  distant  Hulks  as  I  walked  on,  and  though  I 
could  see  the  old  lights  away  on  the  spits  of  sand,  I  saw  them 
my  shoulder.     1  knew  the  lime-kiln  as  well  as  I  knew  the  old  Bat- 
tery, but  they  were  miles  apart  :  so  that  if  a  light  had  been  burn- 
ing at  each  |i .>int  that  night  there  would  have  been  a  long  strip  of 
the  blank  horizon  between  the  two  bright  speck's. 

At  first  1  had  to  shut  some  gates  after  me,  and  now  and  then  to 
stand  still  while  the  cattle  that  were  lying  in  the  banked- up  path- 
way arose  and  blundered  down  among  the  grass  and  reeds.  But 
after  a  little  while  I  seemed  to  have  the  whole  flats  to  myself. 

It  was  another  half  hour  before  I  drew  near  the  kiln.     The 
was  burning  with  a  sluggish,  stifling  smell,  but  the  fires  were  made 
up  and  left,  and  no  workmen  were  visible.     Hard  by  was  a 
stone  quarry.     It  lay  directly  in  my  way,  and  had  been  worked 
that  day,  as  I  saw  by  the  tools  and  barrows  that  were  lying  about. 

Coming  up  again  to  the  marsh  level  out  of  this  excavation — for 
the  nulo  path  lay  through  it — I  saw  a  light  in  the  old  sluice-house. 
I  quickened  my  pace,  and  knocked  at  the  door  with  ray  hand. 
Waiting  for  some  reply,  I  lo'oked'about  me,  noticing  how  the  sluice 
was  abandoned  and  broken,  and  how  the  house — of  wood  with  a 
tiled  roof — would  not  be  proof  against  the  weather  much  longer,  if 
it  were  so  even  now;,  and  how  the  mud  and  ooze  were  coated  with 
lime,  ami  ho%v  the  choking  vapor  of  the  kiln  crept  in  a  ghostly  way 
toward  me.  .Still  there  was  no  answer,  and  I  knocked  again.  >Jo 
answer  still,  and  I  tried  the  latch. 

It  rose  under  my  hand,  and  the  door  yielded.  Looking  in,  I  saw 
alighted  candle  oo  a  table,  a  bench,  and  a  mattress  ;okip 

22 


33*  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

bedstead.  As  there  was  a  loft  above,  I  called.  "Is  there  any  one 
here?"  but  no  voice  answered.  Then  I  looked  at  my  warch,  and 
finding  that  it  was  .past  nine,  called  again,-  "  Is  there  any  one 
here  ?"  There  being  still  no  answ  r,  I  went  out  at  the  door,  irre- 
solute what  to  do. 

It  was  beginning  to  rain  fast.  Seeing  nothing  save  what  I  had 
seen  already,  I  turned  hack  into  the  house  and  stood  just,  within 
the  shelter  of  the  door,  looking  out  into  the  night.  While  I  was 
considering  that  some  one  must  have  be,en  there  lately  and  must 
soon  be  coming  back,  or  the' candle  would  not  be  burning,  it  came 
into  my  head  to  look  if  the  wick  were  long.  I  turned  round  to  do 
so,  and  had  taken  up  the  candle  in  my  hand,  when  it  was  extin- 
guished by  some  violent  shock,  and  the -next  thing  I  comprehended 
was,  that  I  had  been  caught  in. a  strong  running  noose,  thrown 
over  ray  head  from  behind. 

"  Now,"  said  a  suppressed  voice  with  an  oath,  "  I've  got  you  !" 

"  What  is  this  V  I  cried,  struggling.  "  Who  is  it  ?  Help,  help, 
help!" 

Xot  only  were  my  arms  pulled  close  to  my  sides,  but  the  press- 
ure on  my  had  arm  caused  meexquisite  pain.  Sometimes  a  strong 
man's  ham',  sometimes  a  strong  man's  breast  was  set  against  my 
mouth  to  deaden  my  cries, -and  with  a  hot  breath  always  close 'to 
me,  I  struggled  ineffectually  in  the  dark,  while  I  was  fastened 
tight  to  the  wall.  "And  now,"  said  the  suppressed  voire,  with 
another  oath,  "call  out  again,  and  111  make  short  work  of  finish- 
on  !" 

Faint  and  sick  with  the  pain  of  my  injured   arm,  bewildered  by 

the  surprise,  and  yet  consoioua  how  easily*  this  threat  could  be 

piK  in  execution,  I  desisted,  and  tried  to  ease  my  arm  were  it  ever 

so  little.     But  it  was  hound  too  tight  for  that.     I  felt  as  if,  having 

■  burned  before,  it  were  now  being  boiled; 

The  sudden  exclusion  of  the,  night  and  the  substitution  of  black 
darkness  in  Us  place,  warned  me  that  the  man  had  closed  a  shut- 
ter. After  groping  about  for  a  little,  he  found  the  flint  and  steel 
h  wanted,  and  began  to  strike  a  light.  I  strained  my  sight 
upm  the  sparks  that  fell  among  the  tinder,  audupon  which  he  breathed 
and  breathed,  match  in  hand,  but  I  could  only  see  his  lips,  and  the 
blue  point  of  th<j  match;  even  those  hut  fitfully.  The  tinder  was 
damp — no  wonder  there — and  one  after  another  the  sparks  died 
out. 

The  man  was  in  no  hurry,  and   struck  again  with   the  flint  and 

steel.      As  the  sparks  fell  thick  and  bright  about  him  I  could  see 

amis,  and  touches  of  his  face,  and  could  make  out  that  he  was 

seated  and  bending  over  the  table;  but  nothing  more.     Presently 

saw  bis  blue  lips  again  breathing  on  the  tinder,  and  then  a  flare 

light  flashed  up  and  showed  ma  Orlick. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Ml 

Whom  I  had  looked  for  I  don't  know.      I  had  not  looked  for 
him.     Seeing  him  I  felt  that  I  was  in  a  dangerous  strait  ind 
and   I  kept  my  eyes  upon  him. 

lie  lighted  the  candle  from  the  flaring  match  with.great  delib- 
eration, and  dropped  the  match  and  trod  it  (tut.  Then  he  put  the 
caudle  away  from-him  on  the  table,  so  that  he  could  see  me,  and 
sal  with  Ins  arms  folded  on  the  table  and  looked  at  inc.  1  made 
out  that  I  was  fastened  to  a  stout  perpendicular  ladder  a  few  inches 
from  the  wall — a  fixture  there — the  means  of  ascent  to  the  loft 
above. 

"Now," said  he,  when  we  had  surveyed  one  another  for  some 
time,  *'  I've  got  you." 
"  "  Unbind  me.  '  Let  me  go  !  " 

"  Ah  !"  he  returned.  "i'll  let  you  go.  I'll  let  you  go  to  the 
moon,  I'll  lei  you  go  to  tin*  stars.     All  in  good  time." 

"  Why  have  you  lured  me  here  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  he  with  a  deadly  look. 

"  Why  have  you  set  upon  me  in  the  dark?" 

"  liecauVe  1  mean  to  do  it  all  myself.  One  keeps  a  secret  bet- 
ter than  two.     Oh,  you  enemy,  you  enemy  !" 

His  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle  I  furnished,  as  he  sat  with  his 
arms  folded1  on  the  table,  shaking  his  head  at  me  and  hugging  him- 
self, had  a  malignity  in  it  that  made  me  tremble.  As  1  watched 
him  in  silence  he  put  his  hand  into  the  corner  at  his  side  and  took 
up  a  gun  with  a  brass-bound  stock. 

"  Do  you  know  this  V  said  he,  making  as  if  he  would  take  aim 
at  m  •.     "  Do  you  know  where  you  saw  it  afore?     Speak,  wolf!'' 

'•  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"You  cost  me  that  place.     You  did.     Speak!" 

"  What  else  could  1  do?" 

"You  did  that,  and  that  would  be  enough  without  more.     How 
dared  you  come  betwixt  me  and  a  young  woman  I  liked  I  " 
.  "When  did  I?" 

"  When  didn't  you  ?  It  was  you  as  always  gave  Old  ( )rlick  a 
bad  name  to  her." 

"  You  gave  it  to  yourself:  you  gained  it  for  yourself.  I  could 
have  done  you  no  harm  if  you  had  done  yourself  none." 

"  You're  a  liar.  And  you'll  take  any  pains,  and  spend  any  mon- 
ey, to  drive  me  out  of  tins  country,  will  you?"  said  he,  repeating 
my  words  to  Biddy  in  the  last  interview  I  had  with  her.  "  No*, 
I'll  tell  you  a  piece  of  information.  It  was  never  so  well  worth 
your  while  to  get  me  out  of  this  country  as  it  is  o-night.  Ah  ! — 
If  it  was  all  your  money  twenty  times  told,  to  the  last  brass  far- 
den  !  "  As  he  shook  his  heavy  hand  at  me,  with  his  mouth  snarl- 
ing like  a  tiger's,  1  felt  that  it  was  true. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me  ? " 

"  I'm  a  going,"  said  he,  bringing  bis  fist  down  oa  the  table  with 


MO  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  heavy  blow,  and  rising  as  the  blow  fell,  to  give  it  greater  force, 
"  I'm  a  going  to  have  your  life  !  "  He  leaned  forward  staring  at 
me,  slowly  unclenched  his  hand  and  drew  it  across  his  mouth  as  if 
his  mouth  watered  for  me,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  You  was  always  in  Old  Of  lick's  way  since  ever  you  was  a 
child.  You  goes  out  of  his  way  this  present  night.  He'll  have 
no  more  on  yon.     You're  as  good  as  dead."  # 

I  felt  that  I  had  come  to  the  brink  of  my  grave.  For  a  mo- 
ment I  looked  wildly  round  my  trap  for  any  chance  of  escape  ;  but. 
there  was  none.    . 

"More  than  that,"  said  he,  folding  his  arn^  on  the  table  again, 
"  1  won't  have  a' rag  of  you,  I  won't,  have  a  bone  of  yon  left  on 
earth.  I'll  put  your  body  in  the  kiln — I'd  carry  two  such  to  it, 
on  my  shoulders — and,  let  people  suppose  what  they  may  of  you, 
they  shall  never  know  nothing." 

My  mind  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  followed  ont  all  the  conse- 
quences'of  such  a  death.  Patella's  father  would  believe  I-  had 
deserted  him,  would  be  taken,  would  die  accusing  me;  even  Her- 
bert would  doubt  Die,  when  lie  compared  the  letter  I  haTl  left  for 
him,  with  the  fact  that  I  had  called  at  Miss  Kavisham's  gate  for 
only  a  moment ;  Joe  and  Biddy  would  never  know  how  sorry  I 
had  been  that  night ;  none  would* ever  know  what  I  bad  suffered, 
how  true  1  had  meant  to  be,  what  an  agony  1  had,  passed  rhtdugh. 
The  death  close  before  me  was  terrible,  but  far  more  terrible  than 
death  was  the  dread  of  being  misremembered  after  death.  And 
so  quick  were  my  thoughts,  that  I  saw  myself  despised  by  unborn 
generations — Estelht's  children  and  their  children — while  the 
wretch's  words  were  yet  on  his  lips. 

"  Now  wolf,"  said  he,  "  afore  I  kill  you  like  any  other  beast — 
which  is  Wot  1  mean  to  do  and  wot  1  have  tied  you  up  for — I'll 
have  a  good  look  at  you  and  a  good  goad  at  you.  Oh,  you  en- 
emy !" 

It  had  passed  through  my  thoughts  to  cry  out  for  help  again  - 
though  few  oculd  know  better  than  I  the  solitary  nature  of  the 
spot  and  the  hopelessness  of  aid.  But  as  he  sat  gloating  over  me, 
I  was  supported  by  a  scornful  detestation  of  him  that  sealed  my 
lips.  Above  all  things,  I  resolved  that  I  would  not  entreat  him, 
and  that  1  would  die  making  some  last  poor  resistance  to  him. — 
Softened  as  my  thoughts  of  all  the  rest  of  men  were  in  that  dire 
extremity;  humbly  beseeching  pardon,  as  I  did,  of  Heaven  ;  melt- 
ed at  heart  as  1  was,  by  the  thought  that  I  had  taken  no  farewell, 
and  never  never  now  could  take  farewell  of  those  who  were  dear 
to  me,  or  could  explain  myself  to  them,  or  ask  for  their  compassion 
on  my  miserable  errors ;  still,  if  I  could  have  killed  him,  even  in 
lying,  I  would  have  done  it. 

He  had  been  drinking,  and  his  eyes  were  red  and  bloodshot. — 
md  his  neck  was  slung  a  tin  bottle,  a*  I  had  often  seen  his 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  341 

meat  and  drink  sinner  about  him  in  other  days.  He  brought  the 
bottle  to  his  lips,  and  took  a  fiery  drinfr  from  it;  and  I  smelled 
the  strong  spirits  that  1  saw  flare  into  his  face. 

"Wolf!  "  said  he,  folding  his  anus  again,  "  Old  Orliok's  a  go- 
ing to  tell  you  soinethink.  *  It  was  you  as  did  for  your  shrew 
sifter." 

Again  my  mind,  with  its  former  inconceivable  rapidity,  had  ex- 
hausted the  whole  suhjeot  of  the  attack  upon  njy  sister,  her  illness, 
and  her  death  before  his  slow  and  hesitating  speech  had  formed 
these  words. 

"  It  was  you  villain,"  said  I. 

"I  tell  you  it  was  your  doing — I  tell  you  it  was  done  through 
you,"  he  retorted,  catching  up  the  gun,  and  making  a  blow  with 
the  stock  at  the  vacant  air  between  us.  I  come  upon  her  from  be- 
hind, as  1  come  upon  you  tonight.  I  giv'  it  her!  1  left  her  for 
dead,  and  if  there  bad  been  a  lime-kiln  as  nigh  her  as  there  is  now 
nigh  you,  she  shouldn't  have  come  to  life  again.  But  it.  wasn't 
Old  Orliok  as  did  it;  ir  was  you.  You  was  favored,  and  he  was 
bullied  and  beat.  Old  Orlick  bullied  and  beat,  eh?  Now  you 
pays  for  it.     You  done  it;  now  you  pays  for  it." 

He  drank  again  and  became  more  ferocious.  I  saw  by  his  tilt- 
ing; of  the  bottle  that  there  was  no  great  quantity  left  in  it.  I  dis- 
tinctly understood  that  he  was  working  himself  up  with  its  con- 
tents to  make  an  end  -of  me.  1  knew  that  every  drop  it  held  was 
a  drop  of  my  life.  I  knew  that  when  1  was  changed  into  a  part 
of  the  vapor  that  had  crept  toward  me  but  a  little  while  before, like 
my  own  warning  ghost,  he  would  do  as  be  had  done,  in  my  sister's 
case — make  all  haste  to  the  town,  and  be  seen  slouching  about 
there,  drinking  at  the  ale-houses.  My  rapid  mind  pursued  him 
to  the  town,  made  a  picture  of  the  street  with  him  in  it,  and  con- 
trasted its  lights  and  life  with  the  lonely  marsh  and  the  white  va- 
por creeping  over  it,  into  which  I  should  have  dissolved. 

It  was  not  only  that  I  could  have  summed  up  years  and  years 
and  years' while  he  said  a  dozen  words,  but  that  what  he  did  say 
presented  pictures  to  me,  and  not  mere  words,  In  the  excited  and 
exalted  state  of  my  brain  I  could  not  think  of  a  place  without  see- 
ing it,  or  of  persons  without  seeing  them.  It  is  impossible  to  over- 
state the  vividness  of  these  images,  and  yet  I  was  so  intent  all  the 
time,  upon  him  himself — who  would  not  be  intent  on  the  tiger 
'dug  to  spring! — that  I  knew  of  the  slightest  action  of  his 
fingers. 

When  he  had  drunk  this  second  time  he  rose  from  the  bench  on 
which  he  sat,  and  pushed  the  table  aside.  Then  he  took  up  the 
candle,  and  shading  it  with  his  murderous  hand  so  as  to  throw  its 
light  on  me,  stood  before  me,  looking  at  me  and  enjoying  the 
sight. 


342  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Wolf,  I'll  tell  you  something  more.  It  was  Old  Orlick  as  you 
tumbled  over  on  your  stairs  that,  night." 

I  saw  the  staircase  with  its  extinguished  lamps.  I  saw  the 
shadows  of" the  heavy  stair-rails,  thrown  by  the  watchman's  lan- 
tern on  the  wall.  I  saw  the  rooms  that  I  was  never  to  see  again  ; 
here,  a  door  half  open ;  there,  a  door  closed  ;  all  the  articles  of 
furniture  around. 

"  And  why  was  Old  Orlick  'there  ?  I'll  tell  you  something  more, 
wolf.  You  and  her  have  pretty  well  hunted  me  out  or  this  coun- 
try, so  far  as  getting  a  easy  living  in  it  goes,  and  I've  took  up 
with  new  companions..  Some  of  'em  writes  my  letters  when  I 
wants  'em  wrote — do  you  mind? — writes  my  letters,  wolf!  They 
writes  fifty  bands;  they're  not  like  sneaking  you,,  as  writes  hut 
one.  I've  had  a  firm  mind  and  a  firm  will  to  have  your  life  since 
you  was  down  here  at  your  sister's  burying.  I  han't  seen  a  way 
to  get  you  safe,  and  I've  looked  arter  you  to  know  your  ins  and 
outs.  For,  says  Old  Orlick  to  himself,  '  Somehow  or  another  I'll 
have  him  !'  What!  When  I  looks  for  you,  1  finds  your  uncle 
Provis,  eh  /" 

~\\\\\  Pond  Bank,  and  Chinks's  Basin,  and  the  Old  Green  Cop- 
per Hope  Walk,  all  so  clear  and  plain  !  Provis  in-his  rooms,  and 
the  signal  whose  use  was  over,  pretty  Clara,  the  good  motherly 
woman,  old  Bill  Barley  on  his  back,  all  drifting  by,  as  on  the 
swift  stream  of  my  life  fast  running  out  to  sea  ! 

"  You  with  a  uncle,  too  !  Why,  I  know  d  you  at  Gargery's  when 
you  was  so  small  a  wolf  that  I  could  have  took  your  weazen  be- 
twixt this  finger  and  thumb  and  chucked  you  away  (lead  (as  I'd 
thoughts  o'  doing,  odd  times,  when  I  see  you  loitering  among  the 
pollards  on  a  Sunday),  and  you  hadn't  found  no  uncles  then.  No, 
not  you  !  But  when  Old  Orlick  come  for  to  hear  that  your  uncle 
Piovis  had  most  like  wore  the  leg-iron  what  Old  Orlick  had  picked 
up,  tiled  asunder  on  these  meshes  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  wot 
he  kept  by  him  till  he  dropped  your  sister  will)  it  like  a  bullock, 
as  lie  means  to  drop  vou — hey  1 — when  he  come  for  to  hear  that — 
hey  ?  " 

In  his  savage  taunting  he  flared  the  candle  so  close  at  me  that 
I  turned  my  face  aside  to  save  it  from  the  flame. 

"Ah  !  "  he  cried,  laughing,  after  doing  it  again,  "the  burmt  child 
dreads  the  fire !  Old  Orlick  knowed  you  was  burnt,  Old  Orlick 
knowed  you  was  smuggling  your  uncle  Provis  away,  Old  Oiiick's 
a  match  for  you,  and  knowed  you'd  come  to-night!  Now  I'll  tell 
you  something  more,  wolf,  and  this  ends  it.  There's  them  that's 
as  good  a  match  for  your  uncle  Provis  as  Old  Orlick  has  been  for 
you.  Let  him  'ware  them,  when  he's  lost  his  Bevvy  !  Let  him 
'ware  them  when  no  man  can't  find  a  rag  of  his  dear  relation's 
lothes,  cor  yet  a  bone  of  his  body  '.'  There's  them  that  can't  and 
4  won't  have  Magwitch — yes,  I  know  the  name ! — alive  in  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  S43 

same  land  with  them,  ami  that's  had  such  sure  information  of  him 
when  he  was  alive  in  another  land,  as  that  he  couldn't  and  shouldn't 
leave  it  unbeknown,  and  pul  them  in  danger.  P'raps  it's  them  that 
writes  fifty  hands,  and  that's  not  like  sneaking  you  as  writes  hut 
one.     'Ware  Compey,  Magwitch,  and  the  gallows!  " 

He  flare'1  the  candle  at  me  again,  smoking  my  face  and  hair,  and 
for  an  instant  blinding  me,  and  turned  his  powerful  hack  as  he  re- 
placed the  light  on  the  table.  1  bad  thought  a  prayer,  and  had 
been  with  Joe  and  Biddy  and  Uerhert,  before  he  turned  toward 
me  again. 

There  was  a  clear  space'of  a>  few  feet  between  the  table  and  the 
opposite  wall.  Within  tins  space  he  now  slouched  backward  and 
forward.  His  great  strength  seemed  to  sit  stronger  upon  him  than 
ever  before,  as  he  did  this  with  his  hands  hanging  loose  and  heavy 
at  his  sides,  and  with  his  eyes  scowling  at  me.  \  had  no  grain  of 
hope  left.  Wild  as  my  inward  hurry  was,  and  wonderful  the  force, 
of  the  pictures  that  rushed  by  me  instead  of  thoughts,  I  could 
clearly  understand  that  unless  he  had  resolved  that  1  was  within 
a  few  moments  of  surely  .perishing  out  of  all  human  knowledge, 
he  would  never  have  told  me  what  he  hadtold.  • 

Of  a  sudden  he  stopped,  took  the  cork  out  of  his  bottle,  and 
tossed  it  away,  Tight  as  it  was,  I  heard  it  fall  like  a  plummet. 
lie  swallowed  slowly,  lilting  up  the  bottle  by  little  and  little,  and 
now  he  looked  at  me  no  more.  The  last  few  drops  of  liquoif  he 
poured  into  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  and  licked  up.  Then  with 
a  sudden  hurry  of  violence  and  swearing  horribly,  he  threw  the 
battle  from  him,  and  stooped,  and  1  saw  in  his  hand  a  stone  ham- 
mer with  a  long  heavy  handle. 

The  resolution  1  had  made  did  not  desert  me,  for, without  utter- 
ing cue  vain  word  of  appeal  to  him,  .1  shouted  out  with  all  my 
might,  and  struggled  with  all  my  might.  It  was  only  my  head  aud 
my  legs  that  1  could  move,  but  to  that  extent  I  struggled  with  all 
the  force,  until  then  unknown,  that  was  within  me.  In  the  same 
instant  1  heard  responsive  shouts,  saw  figures  and  a  gleam  of  lighr 
dash  in  al  the  door,  heard  voices  and  tumult,  aud  saw  Orlick  emerge 
from  a  Struggle  of  men  as  if  it  were  tumbling  water,  clear  the  ta- 
ble al  a  leap,  and  tiy  out  into  the  night- 
After  a  blank  1  found  that  I  was  lying  unbound  on  the  floor,  in 
the  same  place,  with  my  head  on  some  one's  knee.  My  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  ladder  against  the  wall  when  I  came  to  myself — had 
Opened  on  them  long  before  my  mind  saw  it — and  thus  as  T  re-- 
covered consciousness.  1  knew  that  I  was  in  the  place  where  1  had 
lost  it. 

Too  indifferent  at  first  even  to  look  round  and  ascertain  who  sup- 
ported me,  1  was  lying  looking  at  the  ladder,  when  there  came 
between  me  and  it  a  face.     The  face  of  Trabb's  boy  ! 


344  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  I  think  he's  all  right !"  said  Trabb's  boy,  in  a  sober  voice; 
"  but  ain't,  he  just  pale  though  !  " 

At  these  words  the  face  of  him  who  supported  me  looked  over 
into  mine,  and  I  saw  my  supporter  to  be — 

"  Herbert !     Good  Heaven  !  " 

"  Softly,"  said  Herbert.    "  Gently,  Handel.    Don't  be  too  eager." 

"And  our  old  comrade,  Start  op,"  I  cried,  as  he,  too  bent  over 
me.  •     ' 

"  Remember  what  he  is  going  to  assist  us  in,"  said  Herbert, 
"  and  be  calm." 

The  allusion  made  me  spring  up,  though  I  'dropped  again  from 

the  pain  in  my  arm.     "The  time  has  not  gone  by, Herbert,  lias  it  ? 

What  night  is  to-night?     How  long  have  I  been  here?".   For  1 

had  a  strange  and  strong  misgiving  that  I  had  been  lying  there  a 

lime — a  day  and  night — two  days  and  nights — more. 

"  The  time  has  not  gone  by.     It  is  still  Monday  night." 

"  Thank  God." 

"And  you  have  all  to-morrow,  Tuesday,  to  rest  in,' said  Her- 
bert. "  But  you  can't  help  groaning,  my  dear  Handel.  "What  hurt 
have  you  got?     Can  you  .stand  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,'  said  J.  " I  can. walk.  1  have  no  hurt  but  in  this 
throbbing  arm." 

They  laid  it  bare  and  did  what  they  could.  Jt  w«S  violently 
swollen  and  inflamed,  and  I.  could  scarcely  endure  to  have  it. 
touched.  But  they  tore  up  their  handkerchiefs  to  make  fresh  band- 
ages, and  carefully  replaced  it  in  the  sling,  until  we  could  get  to 
the  town  and  obtain  some  cooling  lotion  to  put  upon  ft.  In  a  lit- 
tle while  we  had  shut  the  door  of  the  dark  and  empty  sluice-house, 
and  were  passing  through  the  quary  on  our  way  back.  Trabb's 
boy — Trabb's  overgrown  young  man  now — went  before  us  with  a 
laiiii m,  which  was  the  light  1  had  seen  come  in  at  the  door.  But 
the  moon  was  a  good  two  hours  higher  than  when  I  had  last  seen 
tiiij  sky,  and  the  night,  though  rainy,  was  much  lighter.  The  white 
vapor  of  the  kiln  was  passing  from  us  as  we  went  by,  and,  as  1  had 
thought  a  prayer  before,  I  thought  a  thanksgiving  now. 

fn treating  Herbert  to  tell  me  how  lie  had  come  to  my  rescue — 
which  at  first  he  had  flatly  refused  to  do,  but  had  insisted  on  my 
remaining  quiet — I  learned  that  I  had  in  my  burr)  dropped  the 
letter,  open,  in  our  chambers,  where  he,  coming  home  to  bring  with 
him  Startup,  whom  he  had  met  in  the  street  on  his  way  to  me,  found 
n  after  1  was  gone.  Its  tone  made  him  uneasy  ;  and  the 
more  so  because  of  the  inconsistency  between  it  and  the  hasty  let- 
ter I  had  left  for  him.  His  uneasiness  increasing  instead  of  sub- 
siding alter  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  consideration,  be  set  off  for  the 
loach-office  with  Startop,  who  volunteered  his  company,  to  make 
quiry  S'hen  the  next  coach  went  down.      Finding  that  the  afler- 

u's  coach  was  gone,  and  finding  that  his  uneasiness  grew  into 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  345 

positive  alarm  as  obstacles  came  in  his  way,  he  resolved  to  follow 
in  a  post-chaise.  So  he  and  Startup  arrived  at  the  Blue  Boar,  ful- 
ly expecting  thereto  find  me,  on  tidings  of  me;  hut  finding  neither, 
went  on  to  Miss  tiavisham's,  where  they  losl  me.  Hereupon  they 
wenl  hack  to  the  hotel  (doubtless  at.  about  the  time  wheii  I  was 
heating  the  popular  local  version  of  my  own  stqry)  to  refresh  them- 
selves, and  to  gel  some  one  to  guide  them  oul  upon  the  marshes. 
Among  the  loungers  under  the  Boar's  archway  happened  to  be 
Trabb's  boy — true  to  his  aneienl  babii  of  happening  to  be  every 
where  where  he  had  no  business — and  Trabb's  boy  had  seen  me 
passing  from  Miss  liavisham's  in  the  direction  of  my  dining-plaee. 
Thus  TrabbB  boy  became  their  guide,  and  with  him  they  went  our. 
to  the  sluice-nouse:  though  by  the  town  way  to  the  marshes,  which 
1  had  avoided.  Now  as  they  went  along  Herbert  reflected  that  I 
might,  after  all.  have  been  brought  there  on  some  genuine  ami  ser- 
viceable errand  tending  to  Provis's  safety)  and  bethinking  himsel| 
thai  in  that  ease  interruption  might  be  mischievous,  left  his  guide 
ami  Startup  on  the  edge  of  the  quarry,  and  wenl  on  In  himself,  and 
stoic  round  the  house  two  or  three  times,  endeavoring  H>  ascertain 
Whether  all  was  right  within.  As  he  could  hear  nothing  hut  indis- 
tinct sounds  of  one  deep  rough  voice  (this  was  while  my  mind  was 
so  busy),  be  even  at  last  began  to  doubt  whether  1  was  there. 
when  suddenly  1  cried  out  loudly,  and  he  answered  the  cries,  and 
rushed  in,  closely  followed  by  the  other  two. 

When  I  had  told  Herbert  what  had  passed  within  the  bouse,  ho 
was  for  our  immediately  going  befor  a  magistrate  in  the  iown, 
late  al  night  as  it  was.  and  getting  out  a  warrant.  But  1  had  al- 
ready considered  that  such  a  course,  by  detaining  us  there  or  bind- 
ing us  to  come  back,  might  be  fatal  to  Provis.  There  was  no  gain- 
saying this  difficulty,  and  we  relinquished  all  thoughts  of  pursuing 
Orlick  at  that  time.  For  the  present,  under  the  circumstance 
deemed  it  prudent  to  make  rather  Hgbl  of  the  matter  to  Trabb's 
boy  ;  who  I  am  convinced  would  have  been  much  affected  b\  dis- 
appointment if  he  had  known  thai  his  intervention  saved  me  from 
the  lime-kiln.  Not 'that' Trabb's  boy  was  of  a  malignant  nature, 
but  that  lie  had  too  much  vivacity  to  spare,  and  that  it  was  in  his 
constitution  to*  want  variety  and  excitement,  at  any  body's  expi 
When  we  parted  1  presented  him  with'  two  guineas  (wiiich  seemed 
to  meet  his  views),  and  told  him  that  I  was  sorry  ever  to  have  had 
as  ill  opinion  of  him  (which  made  no  impression  on  him  at  all). 

Wednesday  being  so  close  upon  us.  we  determined  to  go  back  to 
London  that  night,  three  in  the  post-chaise  ;  the  rather  as  we  s 
then  be  clear  away  before  the  night's  adventure  began  to  be  talk- 
ed of.     Herbert  got  a  huge  bo!  lie  of  slufffor  my  arm,  am!  b\ 
of.  having  this  stuff  dropped   over  it  all  the  night  through,  1  was 
just  able  to   bear  its  paiu  on  the  journey.     It  was  daylight  when 


346  GREAT  EXPECTATIOTS. 

we  reached  the  Temple,  and  I  went  at  once  to  bed,  and  lay  in  bed 
all  day. 

My  terror,  as  !  lay  there,  of  falling  ill  and  being  unfitted  for  to- 
morrow was  so  besetting,  that  I  wonder  it  (lid  not  disable  the  of 
itself.  It  would  have  done  so,  pretty  surely,  in  conjunction  with 
the  mental  wear  and  tear  I  had  suffered,  but  for  the  unnatural 
strain  upon  me  that  to-morrow  was.  So  anxiously  looked  forward 
to,  charged  with  such  consequences,  its  results  so  impenetrably 
hidden  though  so  near. 

No  precaution  could  have  been  more  obvious  than  our  refraining 
from  communication  with  him  that  day  ;  yet  this  again  increased 
my  restlessness.  I  stalled  at  every  footstep  and  evu/y  sound,  be- 
lieving that  he  was  discovered  and  taken,  and  this  was  the  mes- 
senger to  tell  me  so.  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  knew  be  was 
taken;  that  there  was  something  more  upon  my  mind  than-  a  fear 
or  a  presentiment;  that  the  fact  had  occurred,  and  I  had  a  mys- 
terious knowledge  of  it.  As  the  day  wore  on  ami  no  ill  news  came, 
as  the  day  dosed  in  and  darkness  fell,  my  overshadowing  dread  of 
being  disabled  by  illness  before  to-morrow  morning  altogether 
mastered  me.  My  burning  arm  throbbed,  and  my  burning  head 
throbbed,  and  I  fancied  1  was  heginning  to  wander.  1  counted  up 
to  high  numbers,  to  make  sure  that  I  was  steady,  and  repeated 
passages  that  I  knew,  in  prose  and  verse,  it  happened  sometimes 
ii.at,  in  the  mere  escape  of  a  fatigued  mind,  I  dozed  for  some  mo- 
ments, or  forgot  ;  then  1  would  say  to  myself  with  a  start,  "Now 
s  come,  ami  1  am  turning  delirious  !" 

They  kept  mi-  very  quiet  all  day,  and  kept  my  arm  constantly 
dressed,  and  gave  me  cooling  drinks.  Whenever  I  fell  asleep  I 
awoke  with  the  notion  1  had  had  in  the  sluice-house,  that  a  long 
lime  had  elapsed  and  the  opportunity,  to  savtehim  was  gone.  About 
nVjdnight  1  got  out  of  bed  ami  went  to  Herbert  with  the  conviction 
that  1  had  been  asleep  for  four-ami  twenty  hours,  and'  that  Wed- 
nesday was  past.  It  was  the  last  self-exhausting  effort  of  my  fret- 
iuhiess,  lor  after  that  I  slept  soundly. 

id  the  Wednesday  morning  was  dawning  when  I  looked  out 
of  the  window.  The  winking  lights  upon  the  bridges  were  already 
pale;  the  coming  sun  was  like  u  marsh  ot  fire  in  the  horizon.  The 
river,  si  ill  dark  and  mysterious,  was  spanned  by  bridges  that  were 
turning  coldly  gray,  with  here  and  there,  at  lop,  a  warm  touch 
from  the  hurning  in  'the  sky.  As  I  looked  along  the  clustered 
confus.i(.n  of  roofs,  with  church  towers  and  spires  shooting  into  the 
unusually  clear  air,  the  sun  rose  up,  and  avail  seemed  to  be  drawn 
from  the  river,  and  millions  of  sparkles  burst  upon  its  waters. 
Froth  me,  too,  a  vail  seemed  to  be  drawn,  and  I  felt  strong  and 

Well. 

Herbert   lay  asleep  in   his  bed,  and  our  old  fellow-student  lay 
<jp  on  the  sofa.     I  could  not  dress  myself  without  help,  but  I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  347 

made  up  the  fire,  which  ww.s  still  burning-,  and  got  some  coffee 
ready  for  them.  In  good  time  they  too  started  up  strong  and  well, 
and  we  admitted  trie  sharp  morning  air  al  the  windows,  and  looked 
at  the  tide  that  was  still  flowing  toward  us. 

"  When  it  turns,  at  nine  o'clock,"  said  Herbert,  cheerfully, 
"look  out  for  us,  and  stand  ready,  you  Over  there  at  Mill  Pond 
Bank!"' 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


It  was  one  of  those  March  days  when  the  sun  shines  hot  and 
the  wind  blows  cold  .•  when  it  is  summer  in  the  light,  and  winter 
in  the  shade.  We  had  our  pea-coats  with  us,  and  I  .took  a  Bag. 
Of  all  my  worldly  possessions  I  look  no  more  than  the  few  neces- 
saries that  filled  the  bag:  Where  1  might  go,  what  1  might!  do, 
or  when  i  might  return,  were  questions  utterly  unknown  to  me  ; 
nor  did  1  vex  ray  mind  with  them,  for  it  was  wholly  set  on  Pro- 
vis's  safety..  1  only  wondered  for  the  passing  moment,  as  I  stop- 
ped at  the  door  and  looked  back-,  under  what  altered  circum- 
stances  I  should  next  see  those  rooms,  if  ever. 

We  loitered  down  to  the  Temple  stairs,  and  stood  loitering  there 
as  if  we  were  not  .quit*  decided  to  go  upon  the  water  at  all.  Of 
course  1  had  taken  care  that  the  boat  should  be  ready  and  every 
thing  in  order.  After  a  little  show  of  indecision,  which  there  were 
none  to  see  but  the  two  or  three  amphibious  creatures  belonging  to 
our  Temple  stairs,  we  went  on  board  and  cast  off;  Herbert  in  me 
bow,  1  steering.     It  was  then  about   high-water — half-past  eight. 

Our  plan  was  this:  The  tide,  beginning  to  run  down  at  nine, 
and  being  with  us  until  three,  we  intended  Still  to  creep  on  after 
it  had  turned,  and  row  against  it  until  dark.  We  should  then  be 
well  in  those  bug  reaches  below  Gravesend,  between  Kent  and 
Essex,  where  the  river  is  broad  and  solitary,  where  the  Water-side 
inhabitants  are  very  few,  and  where  lone  pub  ic  houses  are  scat- 
tered here  and  there,  of  which  we  could  choose  one  for  a  resiing- 
place.  There  we  meant  to  lay  by  all  night.  The  steamer  for 
Hamburg  and  the  steamer  for  Rotterdam  would  start  from  Lon- 
don al  about  nine  on  Thursday  morning,  and  would  be  in  our  part 
of  the  river  at  ab  nit  noon.  We  slum  d  know  at  what  time  to  ex- 
pect them  according  to  where  we  were,  and  would  hail  the  first ; 


343  GREAT  EXPECTATOINS. 

so  that  if  by  any  accident  we  were  not  taken  aboard,  we  should 
have  another  chance  We  had  a  pocket  glass  with  us,  and  knew 
the  distinguishing  marks  of  each  vessel". 

The  relief  of  being  at  last  engaged  in  the  execution  of  the  pur- 
pose was  so  great  to  me  that  I  fell  it  difficult  ro  realize  the  condi- 
tion in  which  I  had  been  a  few  hours  before.  The  crisp  air, 
the  sunlight,  the  movement  on  the  river,  and  the  moving-river  it- 
self— the  road  that  ran  with  us,  seeming  to  sympathize  with  us,  ani- 
mate us,  and  encourage  us  on — freshened  me  with  new  hope.  I 
felt  mortified  to  he  of  so  little  use  in  the  boat ;  but  there  were  few 
better  oarsmen  than  my  two  friends,  and  they  rowed  with  a  steady 
stroke  that  was  to  last  all  day. 

At  that  time  the  steam  traffic  on  the  Thames  was  far  below  its 
present  extent,  and  watermen's  boats  were  far  more  numerous.  Of 
barges,  sailing  colliers,  and  coasting-traders,  there  were  perhaps 
as  many  as  now  ;  but  of  steamships,  great  and  small,  not  a  tithe  or 
a  twentieth  part  so,  many.  Early  as  it  was,  there  were  plenty  of 
scullers  going  here  and  there  that  morning. *aud  plenty  of  barges 
dropping  down  with  the  tide;  the  navigation  of  the  river  between 
bridges,  in  an  open  boat,  was  a  much  easier  and  commoner  matter 
in  those  days  than  it  is  in  these;  and  we  went  ahead  among  many 

lis  and  wherries  briskly. 

Old  London  Bridge  was  soon  passed,  and  old  Billingsgate  Mar- 
1  et.  with  its  oyster-boats  and  Dutchmen,  and  the  "White  Tower 
and  Traiii  rs'  Gate,  and  we  were  in  among  the  tiers  of  shipping. 
Here  were  the  Leil h,  Aberdeen,  and  Glasgow  steamers  loading 
and  unloading  goods,  and  looking  immensely  high  out  of  the 
water  as  we  passed  along-side  ;  here  were  colliers  by  tie  score 
and  score,  with  the  coal-w  nippers,  plunging  off  stages  on  deck,  as 
counter-weights  to  measures  of  ooaj  swinging  up,  whicb  were  then 
rattled  over  the  side  ipto  barges;  1  ere.  at  her  moorings,  was  to- 
morrow's steamer  for  Rotterdam, of  which  we  tuck  good  notice; 
and  here  to-morrow's  for  Hamburg,  under  whose  bowsprit  we 
sed.  Aid  oow  I.  sitting  in  the  stem,  could  see  with  a  faster 
beating  heart.  Mill  Pond  Hank  and  Mill  Fond  stairs. 

"  Is  he  there  .'"  said  Herbert. 

"  Not  yet." 

••  Right  !  lie  was  not  to  cone  down  till  he  saw  us.  Can  you 
see  his  signal  ?" 

" Not  well  from  here:  but  I  think  I  see  it.  Now,  I  see  him! 
Pull  both.     Easy,  Herbert.     Oars!" 

We  touched  the  stairs  lightly  for  a  single  moment,  and  he  was 
on  board,  and  we  were  off  again.  He  had  a  boat-cloak  with  him, 
and  a  black  canvas  baa\  and  be  looked  as  like  a  river  pilot  as  my 
heart  could  ha\e  wished. 

"  Dear  buy  !"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  on   my  shoulder,  as  he 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  349 

took  his  seat.     "-Faithful  dear  bdy,  well  done.'    Thankye,  thank- 
ye!" 

Again  among  (lie  tiers  of  shipping,  in  and  out,  avoiding  rusty 
chain-cables,  frayed  hempen  hawsers,  and  bobbing  buoys,  sink- 
ing for  the  moment  floating  baskets,  scattering  floating  chips  of 
wood  and  shaving,  cleaving  floating  scum  of  coal,  in  and  out,  un- 
der the  figure-head  of  the  John  of  Sunderland  making  a  speech 
to  Hie  winds  (as  is  done  by  many  Johns)  and  the  Betsy  of  Yar- 
mouth with  a  rirm  formality  of  bosom  and  her  knobby  eyes  start- 
ing two  inches  out  of  her  head,  in  and  out,  hammers  going  in  ship- 
builders' yards,  saws  going  al  timber,  clashing  engines  going  at 
things  unknown,  pumps  going  in  leaky  ships,  capstans  going,  shins 
going  out  to  sea,  and  unintelligible  sea-monsters  roaring  curses 
over  the  bulwarks  at  respondent  lightermen,  in  an  out — out  at 
last  upon  the  clearer  river,  where  the  shins'  boys  might  take  their 
fenders  in,  no  longer  fishing  in  troubled  waters  with  them  over  the 
side, and  where  the  festooned  sails  might  fly  out  to  the  wind. 

At  the  stairs  whe'e  we  had  taken  him  aboard,  and  ever  since, 
I  had  looked  warily  for  any  ("ken  of  our  being  suspected  I  had 
sei  n  none.  We  certainly  had  not  been,  and  at  that  time  as  cer- 
tain y  we  were  not.  either  attended  or  followed  by  any  boat.  If 
we  had  been  waited  on  by  any  boat.  1  should  have  run  into  shore, 
and  have  obliged  her  to  go  on,  or  to  make  her  purpose  evident, 
liui  we  held  our  owm  without  any  appearance  of  molestation. 

lie  had  his  boat-c  oak  on  him,  and  looked,  as  I  have  said,  a  na- 
tural part  (if  the  scene.  It  was  remarkable  (but  perhaps  the 
wretched  life  Ire  had  led  accounted  for  It),  that  he  was  the  least 
anxious  of  any  of  us.     lie  was  not  indifferent,  for  he  to  d  me 

oped  to  sec  his  gentleman  one  of  the  best  of  gentlemen  i>;  a 
foreign  country;  he  was  not  disposed  to  be  passive  or  resigned,  as 
1  understood  it;    but   he   had  no  notion   of  'meeting  danger  hall 

When  it  came  upon  him  be  confronted  it,  but  it  must  i 
before  he  troubled  himse  f. 

•  If  you  knowed,  dear  boy.''  he  said  to  me,  "what  it  is  to  sit 
here  alonger  my  dear  hoy  and  have  my  smnfte.  arter  having  heel 
clay  by  day  betwixt  four  walls,  you'd  envy  me.  But  you  don'r 
know  what  it  is." 

'•  I  think  1  know 'the  delights  of  freedom,"  1  answered. 

"  Ah,'  •  said  he,  shaking  his  head  gravely.  "  But  you  don't 
know  it  equal  to  me.  You  must  have  been  under  lock  and  key. 
dear  boy,  to  know  it  .equal  to  me — but  I  ain't  a  going    n  be  low." 

It  occurred  to  me  as*  inconsistent  thai  lor  any  mastering  idea  he 

Id   haVe  endangered  his  freedom  and  even  his  life.     lint  1  re- 

■  dom  without  danger  was  too  much  i 

from  all  the  habit  of  his  existence  to  be  to  him  what  it  won  d  he  to 

another  man.     I  was  not  far  out,  since  he  said,  after  smokiDg  a 

Itttlai 


3  50  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  You  see,  dear  bny,  when  T  was  over  yonder,  t'other  side  of  the 
world,  I  was  always  a  looking  to  this  side;  and  it  come  flat  to  be 
there,  for  all  I  was  a  growing  rich.  Every  body  knowed  Mag- 
witch,  and  Magwitch  could  come,  and  Magwitch  could  go.  and  no- 
body's head  won  d  be  troubled  about  him.  They  ain't  so  easy 
Concerning  me  here,  dear  boy — wouldn't  be,  leastwise,  if  they 
knowed  where  I  was." 

"  If  all  goes  well, '  said  1,  "  you  will  be  perfectly  free  and  safe 
again  within  a  few  hours." 

"  Well."  he  returned,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "I  hope  so." 

"  And  think  so  .'" 

He  dipped  his  hand  into  the  water  over  the  boat's  emnwale.  and 
said,  smiling  with  that  softened  air  upon  him  which  was  not  new 
to  me: 

••  Ay,  1  s'pose  1  think  so.  dear  boy.  We'd  be  puzzled  to  be 
piore  quiet  and  eas^y-going  than  we  are  at  present.  But — it's  a 
flowing  so  soil  and  pleasant  through  the  water,  p'raps,  as  makes 
roe  think  it — 1  was  a  thinking  through  my  srtioke  just  tben,  that 
Wt  can  no  more  see  lo  the  bottom  of  the  next  few  hours  than  we 
ran  see  to  the  bottom  of  this  river  what  I  catches  hold  of.  Nor 
yet  we  can'1  no  more  hold  their  tide  than  I  can  hold  this.  And 
it's  run  through  my  lingers  and  gone  you  see!"  holding  up  his 
drippii  ig  hand. 

"  Bui  for  your  lace,  I  should  think  you  were  a  little  despond- 
ent.'' said  1. 

"  Not  a  bit  oi  ir,  dear  boy  !  It  comes  of  flowing  on  so  quiet, 
and  of  that  there  rippling  at  the  boat's  head  making  a  sort  of  a 
Sunday  tune.     .May  he  I'm  a  growing  a  trifle  old  besides." 

lie  put  his  pipe  hack  in  his  mouth  with  an  undisturbed  expres- 
sion of  face,  and  sal  as  composed  and  contented  as  if  we  were 
already  our  of  England.  Vet  he  was  as  submissive  to  a  word  of 
Mv.ce  as  if  he  had  been  in  constant  terror,  for  when  we  ran  ashore 
to  gel  some  bottles  ot  beer  into  the  boat,  and  he  was  stepping  out, 
I  hilled  that  1  thought  he  would  he  safest  where  he  was,  and  he 
said.  '•  Do  you,  dear  hoy,  :  and  quietly  sat  down  again. 

Tlie  air  felt  cold  upon  the  river,  but  it  was  a  bright  day,  and  the 
sun  was  very  cheering.  The  tide  ran  strong,  I  took  care  not  to 
lose  none  of  it,  and  our  steady  stroke  carried  us  on  thoroughly 
well.  By  imperceptible  degrees,  as  the  tide  ran  out,  we  lost  more 
and  more  of  the  nearer  woods  and  hills,  and  dropped  lower  and 
lower  between  the  muddy  banks,  but  the  tide  was  yet  with  us 
when  we  were  ell'  Gravesend.  As  our  charge  was  wrapped  in  his 
cloaki  1  purposely  passed  Within  a  boat  or  two's  lengih  of  the  float 
iiigCustniu  House,  and  so  out  to  catch  the  stream,  along  side  of 
two  emu  rant  ships,  and  under  the  bows  of  a  large  transport  with 
^oldiers  on  the  forecastle  looking  down  at  us.  And  soon  the  tide 
Tan  Lo  slacken,  and  the  craft  lying  at  anchor  to  swing,  and  pre-, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  351 

gently  they  had  all  swung  round,  and  the  ships  that  were  taking 
advantage  of  the  new  tide  to  get  up  to  the  Pool,  began  to  crowd 
upon  us  in  a  fleet,  and  we  kept  under  the  shore,  as  much  nut  of 
tic  strength  of  the  tide  now  as  we  could,  standing  carefully  off 
from  low  shallows  and  mud-hanks. 

Our  oarsmeti  were  so  fresh,  by  dint  of  having  occasionally  let 
her  drive  with  the  tide  for  a  minute  or  two.  that  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  rest  proved  full  as  much  as  they  wanted.  We  got  ashore 
among, some  slippery  stones  while  we  ate  and  drank  what  we  had 
with  us,  and  looked  about.  It  was  like  my  own  marsh  country, 
flat  and  monotonous,  and  with  a  dim  horizon;  whi'e  the  winding 
river  turned  and  turned,  and  the  great  floating  buoys  upon  it 
turned  and  turned,  and  every  thing  else  seemed  stranded  and 
still.  For  now  the  last  of  the  fleet  of  ships  was  round  the  last 
low  point  we  had  headed  ;  and  the  last  green  barge,  si  raw  laden, 
with  a  brown  sail,  bad  followed;  and  some  ballast-lighters,  shaped 
like  a  child's  first  rude  imitation  oT  a  boat,  lay  low  in  the  mud; 
and  a  little  squat  shoal  light  house  on  open  piles,  stood  crippled 
in  the  mod  on  stilts  and  crutches;  and  slimy  stakes  stuck  out  of 
the  mud.  and  slimy  stones  stuck  out  of  the  mud.  and  red  land- 
marks and  tidemarks  stuck  out  of  the  mud.  and  an  old  landing- 
stage  and  an  old  roofless  building  slipped  into  the  mud,  and  all 
about  us  was  stagnation  and  mud. 

We  pushed  off  again,  and  made  what  way  we  could.  It  was 
much  harder  w  rk  now.  but  Herbert  and  Startop  persevered,  and 
rowed,  and  rowed,  and  rowed,  until  the  sun  went  down.  By  that, 
lime  the  river  had  lilted  us  a  little,  so  that  we  could  see  above  the 
bank.  There  was  the  red  sun,  on  the  low  level  of  the  shore,  in  a 
purple  haze,  fast  deepening  into  black;  and  there  was  the  solitary 
flat  marsh;  and  far  away  there  were  the  rising  grounds,  between 
which  and  us  there  seemed  to  be  no  life,  save  here  and  there  in 
the  fore-ground,  a  melancholy  gull. 

As  the  night  was  fast  falling,  and  as  the  moon  being  past  the 
full,  would  not  rise  early,  we  held  a  little  council:  a  short  one, 
for  clearly  our  course  was  to  lie  by  at  the  first  lonely' tavern  we 
could  tind.  So  they  plied  their  oars  once  more,  and  1  looked  our 
for  any  thing  like  a  house.  Thus  we  held  on,  speaking  little,  for 
four  or  five  dull  miles.  It  was  very  cold,  and  a  collier  coming  by 
us  with  her  galley -fire  smoking  and  flaring  looked  quite  a  comfort- 
able borne.  The  night  was  as  dark  by  this  time  as  it  would  be 
until  morning,  and  what  light  we  had  seemed  to  come  more  from 
the  river  than  the  sky,  as  the  oars  in  their  dipping  slrttttk  at  a  few 
reflected  stars. 

Al  this  dismal  time  we  were  evidently  all  possessed  by  the  idea 
that  we  were  followed.  As  the  tide  made,  ii  flapped  heavily  at 
irregular  interva  s  against  the  shore  ;  and  whenever  such  a  sound 
tume,  one  or  other  of  us  was  sure  to  start  and  look  in  that  diretv- 


352  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tion.  Here  and  there  the  set  of  the  current  had  worn  down  the 
bank  into  a  little  creek,  and  we  were  all  suspicious  of  such  p'aces, 
and  eyed  them  nervously.  Sometimes,  "What  was  that  ripple?" 
one  of  us  would  say  in  a  low  voice.  Or  another,  "  Is  that  a  boat 
yonder  I'1  And  afterward  we  would  fall  into  a  dead  silence,  and 
I  would  sit  impatiently  thinking  with  what  an  unusual  amount  of 
noise  the  oars  worked  in  the  thowels.  ' 

At  length  we  descried  a  light  and  a  roof,  and  presently  after- 
ward ran  alongside  a  little  causeway  made  of  stones  that  had  been 
picked  up  hard  by.  Leaving  the  rest  in  the  boat,  I  stepped 
ashore,  and  found  the  light  to  be  in  the  window  of  a  public-house. 
Jt  was  a  dirty  place  enough,  and  I  dare  say  not  unknown  to  smug- 
gling adventures;  but  there  was  a  good  (ire  in  the  kitchen,  and 
there  were  eggs  and  bacon  to  eat,  and  various  liquors  to  drink. 
Also,  there  were  two  double-bedded  rooms — "  such  as  they  were,  ' 
the  landlord  said.  No  other  company  was  in  the  house  than  the 
land  ord,  his  wife,  and  a  grizzled  male  creature,  the  "  Jacn"  of 
the  little  causeway,  who  was  as  .slimy  and  smeary  as  if  he  had 
been  low-water  mark  too. 

With  this  assistant  I  went  down  to  the  boat  again,  and  we  all 
came  ashore,  and  brought  out  the  oars,  and  rudder,  and  boat-hook, 
and  all  else,  and  hauled  her  up  for  the  night.  We  made  a  very 
good  meal  by  the  kitchen  lire,  and  then  apportioned  the  bedrooms. 
Herbert  and  Startop  were  to  occupy  one;  I  and  our  charge  the 
other.  We  found  the  air  as  carefully  excluded  from  both  as  if  air 
Were  fatal  to  ife;  and  there  were  more  dirty  clothes  in  bandboxes 
i-  i he  beds  than  I  shou  d  have  thought  the  family  possessed. 
Bui  we  considered  ourselves  well  off,  notwithstanding. -for  a  more 
Solitary  place  we  could  not  have  found. 

While  we  were  comforting  ourselves  by  the  (ire  after  our  meal, 
ilu.  jac|{ — who  was  silting  in   a  corner,  and  who  had  a  bloated 
pair  or  shoes  on,  which  he  had  exhibited  while  we  Were  eating  our 
and  bacon,  as  interesting  relics  that  he  had  taken  a  lew  days 
ago  from  the  I  Irowned  seaman  washed  ashon — a-ked  me 

if"  I  had  seen  a  four-oared  galley  going  up  with  the  tide?  When 
I, told  him  No,  he  said  she  must  have  gone  down,  then,  andyei  she 
"took  up  too,"  when  she  led  there. 

"  They    must   ha'   thought  better  on't,  for  some  reason  or  an- 
other," said  the  .lack,  "and  gone  down." 

"A  fom-,   ired  galley,  eh?"  said  I. 

-A  fmir."  said  ihe  Jack,  "and  two  sitters'' 

"  Did  they  come  ashore  here  ?" 

"They  put  in  with  a  stone  two-gallon  jar  for'some  Ireer.  I'd 
V  been' glad  to  pi*on   the  beer  inyself,''  said  the  Jack,  "  or  put 

me  ratt  ing  physic  in  it  at  least." 
•Wbjr 


,  ;:at  expectations.  as j 

"  J  kuo  the  Jack.     He  spoke  in  a  slushy  voice, 

as  if  much  mud  had  washed  into  his  throe . 

"lie  thinks,",  said  the  landlord-i— a  weakly  meditative  man 
with  a  pale  eyey. who  seemed  to. rely  greatly  on  his  Jack — '-lie 
tbinlis  they  was  what  they  waW 

"  I  knows  what  I  thinks.''  observed  the  Jack. 

"  You  thinks  Custum  'Us,  Jack?"  said  the  landlord. 

••  I  do,"  said  the  Jack. 

•'  Then  you'  .  Jack'." 

"  Am    I 

It  the  Infinite  meaning  of  his  reply,  and  his  boundless  con- 
fidence in  his  views,  the  Jack  took  one  of  his  bloated  shoes 
off,  looked  into  it,  knocked  a  few  s  ones  out  of  it  on  the  kitchen 
floor,  and  put  ii  on  again.  lie  did  this  with  the  air  of  a  Jack"  who 
was  so  right  thai  he  could  afford  to  do  any  thing. 

"  Why,  win  1  do  you  make  out  that  they  done  with  their  but- 
tons, then,  .1  •■■',  .'"  asked  the,  landlord,  vacillating  weakly. 

"Dene  with  their  buttons?"  returned  the  Jack.  ••Chucked 
'cm  overboard.  Swallered  'em.  Sowed  'em  to  come  up  small 
salad.     Done  with  their  buttons!" 

.    "Don't  be   cheek;;    Jack,"    remonstrated   the  landlord,    in    a 
melancholy-  and  pathetic  way. 

f  A  Custum  'Us  officer  knows  what  to  do  with  his  Buttons," 
said  the  Jack,  repeating  the  obnoxious  word  with  the  greatest 
contempt,  "  when  they  eomesbetwixt  him  and  Ids  own  light.  A 
Four  and  two  sitters  don't  go,  hanging  and  hovering,  up  with  one 
tide  and  down  with  another,  and  both  with  and  against  another, 
without  their  being  Custom  TJs  at  the  bottom  of  it." 
which,  he  went  out  disgusted  ;  and  the  landlord  having  uo  one  to 
rely  upon,  found  it  impracticable  to  pursue  the  subject 

This  dialogue  made  us  all  uneasy,  and  me  very  i  The 

dismal  wind  was  .muttering  r  mud  the  house,  the  tide  was  flapping 
at  the  shore,  and  I  had  a  feeling  that  we  were  eaged  and  threat- 
ened. A  four-oared  galley  hovering  about  in  so  unusual  a  way  as 
to  attract  this  notice,  was  an  ugly  circumstance  that  I  could  not 
get  rid  of.  When  I  had  induced  Provis  to  go  up  to  bed,  I  went 
outside  with  my  two  companions  (Startop  by  this  time  knew  the 
state  of  the  case),  and  held  another  council.  Whether  we  should 
remain  at  the  house  until  near  the  steamer's  time,  which  would  be 
about  one  in  the  afternoon  ;  or  whether  we  should  put  off  early  in 
the  morning,  Was  the. question  we  discussed.  On  the  whole  we 
deemed  it  the  better  course  to  lie  where  we  were  until  within  an 
hour  or  so  of  the  steamer's  time,  and  then  to  get  out  in  her  : 
and  drift  easily  with  the  tide.  Having  settled  to  do  this,  we  re- 
turned into  the  house  and  went  to  bed. 

I  lay  down  with  the  greater  part  of  my  clothes  on,  and  slept  for 
a  few  hours  well.    When  I  awoke,  the  wind  had  risen,  and  the 


854  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

sign  of  the  house  (the  Ship)  was  creaking  and  banging  about,  with 
noises  thai  startled  me.  Easing  softly,  for  my  charge  lay  fast 
asleep,  I  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  commanded  the  causeway 
where  we  had  hauled  up  our  boat,  and,  as  my  eyes  adapted  them- 
selves to  the  light  of  the  clouded  moon,  I  saw  two- men  lookin 
to  her.  They  passed  by  under  the  window,  looking  at  nothing  else, 
and  did  not  go  down  to  the  landing-place,  which  I  could  discern  to 
be  empty,  but  struck  acrossthe  marsh  in  the  direction  of  the 

My  first  impulse  was  to  call  up  Herbert,  and  show  him  the  two 
men  going  away.  But  reflecting  before  I  got  into  his  room,  which 
was  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  adjoined  mine,  that  he  and  .Star- 
top  had  had  a  harder  day  than  I,  and  were  fatigued,  I  forbore: — 
Going  back  to  my  window,  I  could  still  see  the  two  men  moving 
over  the  marsh.  In  that  light,  however,  I  soon  lost  them,  and 
feeling  very  cold,  lay  down  to  think  of  the  matter,  and   fell  a 

We  were  up  early.     As  we  walked  to  and  fro,  all  four  together, 
before  breakfast,  1  deemed  it  right  to  recount  what  L  had  seen. — 
in,  our  charge  was  the  least-  anxious  of  the   party.     It  was 
very  likely  that  the  men  belonged  t  >  'the  Custom-house,  he 
tly,  and  that  they  had  no  thought  of  us.     I    tried    to  per.* 
If  thai  it  was  so:  as,  indeed,  it  might  easily  he.     However,  I 
sed  that  he  and   1    should  walk   away   together  to   a  di 
point  we  coul  I  see.  and  thai  the  boat  should  take  us  aboard  there,- 
or  as  near  there  as  might  prove  feasible,  at  about  noon. 

lered  a  good  precaution,  soon   after   breakfast  he  a 

Forth,  without  saying  anythi,  tavern. 

He  smoked  his  pipe  as  he  went  along,  and  sometimes  stopped  to 

me  on  the  shoulder,  or  take  me  by  the  hand.     One  would  have 

-  sed  that  it  was  i  who  was  in  danger,  not  be,  and  that  be  was 

leas.-;,-  '<:-.:s  me.     W    spoke  very  little.     As  we  approached  the  point, 

irged  him  to  remain  id   a  sheltered  place  while   1  went  on  to 

re;  for  it  was  toward  it  that  the  men  had  passed  in  the 

.     He  complied,  and  I  went  on   alone.      There  was  no  boat 

he  point,  nor  drawn  up  any  where  near  it,  nor  were  there  any 

of  the  men  having  embarked  there.-     But  to  be  sure  The  tide 

was  high,  and  there  might  have  been  some  footprints  under. water. 

When  he  looked  out  from  his   shelter   in   the   distance   and  saw 

that  1  waved  m\  hat  to  him  to  come  up,  be  rejoined  me,  and  there 

tj^e  waited — sometimes  lying  on  the  bank    wrapped  in  our  coats, 

and  scuieu.;  >\-  moving  about  to  warm  ourselves — until  we  saw  the 

boat  coming  round.     We  got  aboard  easily,  and  rowed  out  into  the 

track  of  the  steamer.     By  that  time  it  wanted  but  ten  minutes  of 

one  o'clock,  and  we  began  to  look  out  for  her  smoke. 

But  it  was  half  past   one   before  we  saw  her  smoke,  and  soon 

fterward  we  saw  behind  it  the  smoke  of  the  other  steamer.     As 

av  were  coming  on  at  full  speed,' we  got  the  two  bags  ready,  ami 


,i:at  expectations.  356 

took  that  opportunity. of  saving  gqod-by  to  Herbert  and  Startop. 
We  had  all  shaken  hands  cordially,  and  neither  Herbert's  eyes  nor 

mine  were  quite  dry  when  1  saw  a  four-oared  galley  shool  out  from 
under  the  bank  but  a  little  way  ahead  of  us,  and  raw  oat-  into  (he 
same  track. 

A  st reteh  of  shore  had  been  as  yel  between  us  and  the  steam- 
er's smoke,  by  reason  of  the  bend  and  wind  of  the  river;  but  now 
she  was  visible,  coming-  head  on.  I- called  to  Herbert  and  Startop 
to  keep  before  the  tide,  that  she  might  see  us  lying  by  for  her,  and 
1  adjured  1  'rovis  to  sit  still,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  lie  am  v. 
cheerily,  " Trust  to  me,  dear  boy,"  and  sat  like,  a  statue.  "Mean- 
time, the  galley,  which  was  very  skillfully  handled,  had  borne  down 
upon  us;  crossed  us,  and  come  alongside.  Leaving  just  enough 
room  for  the  play  of  the  oars,  she  kept  alongside,  drifting  when  We 
drifted,  and- pulling  a  stroke  or  two  when  we  pulled.  Of  the  two 
sitters,  one  held  the  rudder  lines,  and  looked- at  us  attentively — as 
did  all  the  rowers;  the  other  sitter  was  wrapped  up,  much  as  Provis 
was,  and.  seemed  to  shrink,  and  whisper  some  instruction  to  the 
stranger  as  he  looked  at  us.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  in  either 
boat. 

Startop  could  make  out,  after  a  few  minutes,  which  steamer  was 
first,  and  gave  me  the  word  "  Hamburg,"  in  a  low  voice  as  we  sat. 
face  to  face.  She  was  Hearing  us  very  fast,  and  the  beating  of  her 
paddles  grew  louder  artjl  1   fit  as  if  her  shadow  were  ab- 

solutely upon  us  when  the  galley  hailed  us.     I  answered. 

"You  have  a  Beturnod  transport  there,  said  the  man  who  held 
the  lines.  «' That's  the  nuwi  wrapped  in  the  cloak.  His  name  is 
Abel  Magwbh,  otherwise  Provis.  I  apprehend  that  man,  and  call 
upon  him  to  surrender,  and  you  to  assist." 

At  the  same  moment,  without  giving  any  audible  direction  to  his 
crew  lie  ran  the  galley  aboard  of  us.  They  had  pulled  one  sudden  stroke 
ahead,  had  got  their  o^irsiu,  had  run  athwart  us,  and  were  ho 
on  to  our  gunwale  before  we  knew  what  they  were  doing.  This 
caused  great  confusion  on  board  the  steamer,  and  I  heard  them 
calling  to  us,  and  heard  ihe  order  given  to  stop  the  paddles,  and 
heard  them  stop,  but  felt  her  driving  down  upon  us  irresistibly. — 
In  the  same  moment,  I  saw  the  steersman  of  the  galley  lay  uis 
band  on  his  prisoner's  shoulder,  and  saw  that  both  boats  were 
swinging  round  with  the  force  of  the  tide,  and  saw  that  all  hands 
on  hoard  the  steamer  were  running  forward  quite  frantically. — 
Still  in  the  same  moment,  I  saw  the  prisoner  start  up,  lean  across 
his  captor,  and  ptdl  the  cloak  from  the  neck  of  the  shrinking  sitter 
in  the  galley.  Still  in  the  same  moment,  1  saw  that  the  face  dis- 
closed was  the  face  of  the  other  convict  of  long  ago.  Still  in  the 
same  moment,  I  saw  the  face  lilt  backward  with  a  white  terror  on 
it  that  1  shall  never  forget,  and  beard  a  great  ory  on  board  Uk 


355         .  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

steamer  and  a  loud  splash  in  the  water,  and  felt  the  boat  sink  from 
under  me. 

It  was  but  for  an  instant  that  X  seemed  to  struggle  with  a  thou- 
sand mill-weirS  and  a  thousand  flashes  of  light;  that  instant  past, 
I  was  taken  on  board  the  galley.     Herbert  was  there,  and  Startop 
there;, but  our  boat  was  gone,  and  the  two  convicts  were 
gone. 

bat  with  the  cries  aboard  the  steamer,  and  the  furious  bl 
hag  off  of  her  steam,  and  her  driving  on,  and   our  driving  on,  I 
could  not  at  first  distinguish  sky  from  water,  or  shore  from  shore; 
but  the  crew  of  the  galley  righted  her  with  great  speed,  and  pull- 
certain  ssvift  strong  strokes  ahead,  lay  upon  their  oars,  every 
man  looking  silently  and  eagerly  at  the  water  astern.     Presently  a 
dark  object  was  seen  in  it,  bearing  toward  us  on  the  tide.     No  man 
spoke,  hut  the  steersman  held  up  his  hand,  and  all  softly  hacked 
water,  and  kept  the  boat  straight  and  true  before  it.     As  it  came 
■r,  !  saw  it.  to   he  Magwitch,   swimming.      lie   was  taken  on 
!.  and  instantly  manacled  at  the  wrists  and  ankles. 
The  galley  was  kept  steady,  and  the  silent,  eager  look-out  at  the 
water  was  resumed.    But  the  Rotterdam   steamer  now  came  up, 
and  apparent!)  not  understanding   what   had  happened,  came  on 
By    the   time    she   had  been    hailed    and    stopped    hoth 
tiers  were  drifting  away  from  us,  and  we  were  rising  and  falling 
in  a  troubled  wake  of  water.-   The  look-out  was  kept  long  alter  al! 
was  still  again  and  the  two  steamers   were  gone;   but  every  body 
knew  thai  i,  was  hopeless  now. 

At  length  we  gave  it  up,  and  pulled  under  the  shore  toward  the 
tavern  we  had  lately  left,  where  we  were  received  with  no  little 
surprise.  Here  1  was  aide  to  get  some  comforts  fyr  Magwitch — 
Provis?  no  longer — who  had  received  son,'.  rere  injury  in 

■best,  and  a  deep  cut  in  the  head. 
lie  told  me  that  he  believed  himself  to  have  gone  under 
keel  of  the  steamer,  and  to  have  been  struck   on   the  iiead   in  ris- 
The  injury  to  his  chest,  (which   rendered  -his  breathing  ex- 
i.e  oely  painful)  he  thought  he  had  received  agaist  the  side  of  the 
galley.     He  added  that  he  did  not  pretend  to  say  what  he  might, 
or  might  not  have  done  to  Compey,  but  that  in  the  moment  of  his 
laying  ivis  hand  on  his  cloak  to  identify  him  that  villain  had  stag- 
gered up  and  staggered  back,  and  they  had  both  gone  overboard  to- 
gether; v.  ulden  wrenching  of  him  (Magwitch)  out  of  our 
boat,  and  the  endeavor  of  his  captor  to  keep  him  in  it,'  had,  capsiz- 
.  ed  us.      He  told  me  in  a  whisper  that  they  had  gone  down  fiercely 
locked  in  each  Other's  arms,  and  that  there  had  been  a  struggle  un- 
let* water,  and  t,hat    he  bad  disengaged  himself,  struck  out,  and 
•um  away. 

->ever  had  any  reason  to  doubt  the  exact  truth  of  what  be  thus 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  357 

told  me.  The  officer  who  steered  the  galley  gave  the  same  ac- 
count of  their  going  overhoard. 

When  I  asked  tin's  officer's  permission  to  change  the  prisoner's 
wet  clothes  by  purchasing  any  spare  garments  I  could  get  at  the 
public  house,  he  gftve  it  readily,  merely  observing  that  he  must 
take  charge  of  every  thing  his  prisoner  had  about  him.  So  the 
pocket-book  which  bad  once  been  in  my  hands  passed  into  the 
officer's,  lie  further  gave  me  leave  to  accompany  the  prisoner  to 
London;  but  declined  to  accord  thai  grace  to  my  two  friends. 

The  Jack  at  the  Ship  was  instructed  where  the  drowned  man 
had  gone  down,  and  undertook  to  search  fur  the  body  in  the  places 
where  it  was  likeliest  to  come  ashore.  His  interest  in  its  recov- 
ery seemed  to  me  to  be  much  heightened  when  he  heard  that  it  had 
stockings  on.  Probably,  it  took  about -a  dozen  drowned  men  to 
fit  him  out.  completely  ;  and  that  may  have  been  the  reason  why 
the  different  articles  of  bis  dress  were  in  various  stages  of  decay. 

We  remained  at  the  public  house  until  the  tide  turned,  and  then 
Magwitch  was  carried  down  to  the  galley  and  put  on  board.  Her- 
bert and  Startop  were  to  get  to  London  by  land,  as  soon  as  they 
could.  We  had  a  doleful. parting,  and  when  I  took  my  place  by 
Magwitch's  side,  1  felt  that  that,  was  my  place  henceforth  while 
he  lived. 

For  now  my  repugnance  to  him  had  all  melted  away,  and  in 
the  hunted,  wounded,  ironed  creature  who  held  my  hand  in  his,  I 
only  saw  a  man  who  had  meant  to  be  my  benefactor,  and  who  had 
felt  affection atery,  gratefully,  and  generously  toward  me  with 
great  constancy  through  a  series  of  years.  I  only  saw  in  him  a 
much  better  man  than  I  had  been  to  Joe. 

His  breathing  became  more  difficult  and  painful  as  (he  night 
drew  on,  and  often  he  could  not  repress  a  groan.  I  tried  to  rest 
him  on  the  arm  I  could  use,  in  an  easy  position  ;  but  it  was  dread- 
ful to  think  that  I  could  not  be. sorry  at  heart  for  his  being  badly 
hurt,  since  it  was  unquestionably  best  that  he  should  die.  That 
there  were,  still  living,  people  enough  who  were  able  and  wbling 
to  identify  him,  I  could  not  doubt.  That  he  would  be  mercifully 
treated,  I  could  not  hope.  He  who  had  been  presented  in  the 
worst  light  at  his  trial,  who  had  since  broken  prison  and  been 
tried  again,  who  had  returned  from  transportation  under  a  life 
sentence,  and  who  had  occasioned  the  death  of  the  man  who  was 
the  cause  of  his  arrest 

As  we  returned  toward  the  setting  sun  we  had  yesterday  left 
behind  us,  and  as  the  stream  of  our  hopes  seemed  all  running  back, 
I  told  him  how  grieved  I  was  to  think  that  he  had  come  home  for 
m\  sake. 

"Dear  boy,"  he  answered,  "I'm  quite  content  to  take  my 
chance.  I've  seen  my  boy,  and  he'll  be  a  gentlemau  without 
me."  »*~ 


358  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  had  thought  about  that,  while  we  had  been  there  side  by  side. 
No.     Apart  from  any  inclinations  of  my  own  I  understood  Wem- 
mick'a  hinUnow.     I  foresaw  that,  being  convicted,  his  posses! 
would  be  forfeited  to  the  Crown. 

"  Lookee  here,  dear  boy,"  said  he.  "  It's  best  as  a  gentleman 
should  not  be  knowed  to  belong  to  me  now.  Only  come  to  see  me 
as  if  you  come  by  chance  alonger  Wemmick.  Sit  where  I  can 
see  you  when  I  am  swore  to,  for  the  last  o'  many  times,  and  I 
don't  ask  no  more." 

"  I  will  never  stir  from  your  side,"  said  I,  "  when  I  am  suffer- 
ed to  be  near  you.  Please  God,  I  will  be  as  true  to  you  as  you 
have  been  to  me!'' 

1  felt  his  band  shake  as  it  held  mine,  and  be  turned  bis  face 
away  as  be  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  I  beard  that  old 
sound  in  his  throat — softened  now.  like  all  t  lie  resl  of  him.  It 
was  a  good  thing  that  he  had  touched  this  point,  for  it  pui  into 
ray  mind  what  1  might  not  otherwise  have  thought  of  until  too 
laic  :  That  be  need  never  know  how  his  hopes  of  enriching  me 
had  perished- 


CHAPTER   LV. 


•  He  was  taken  to  the  Police  Court  next  day,  and  would  have 
been  inn  ediately  committed  for  trial,  but  that  it  was  necessary 
to  send  doun  for  an  old  ofhVer  of  the  prison-ship  from  which  he 
had  ome  escaped  to  speak  to  bis  identity.  Nobody  doubted  it; 
but  Compey,  who  had  meant  to  depose  to  it,  was  tumbling  on  the 
tides,  dead,  and  it  happened  that  there  was  not  at  that  time  any 
prison  officer  in  London  who  could  give  the  required  evidence.  I 
had  gone  direct  to  Mr.  Jaggers  at  bis  privale  house,  on  my  arrival 
over-night,  to  retain  his  assistance,' and  Mr.  Jaggers  on  the  pris- 
oner's behalf  would  admit  nothing.  It  was  the  sole  resource,  for 
be  told  rue  that  the  case  must  be  over  in  five  minutes  when  the 
witness  was  there,  and  that  no  power  on  earth  could  prevent  its 
going  against  us. 

I  imparted  to  Mr.  Jaggers  my  design  of  keeping  him  in  ignor- 
°.  of  the  fate  of  his  wealth.     Mr.  Jaggers  was  querulous  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  359 

angry  with  me  for  having  "  let  if  slip  through  my  fingers,"  and 
said  we  must  memorialize  by-and-by,  and  try  at  all  events  for 
some  of  it.  But  he  did  not  conceal  from  me  that  although  there 
might  be  many  eases  in  which  the  forfeiture  would  not  be  exacted; 
there  were  no  circumstances  in  this  case  to  make  it  one  of  them.  T 
understood  that  very  well.  I  was  not  related  to  the  outlaw,  or 
connected  with  him  by  any  recognizable  tie  ;  he  had  put  his  hand 
to  no  writing  or  settlement  in  my  favor  before  his  apprehension. 
and  to  do  so  now  would  he  idle.  I  had  no  claim,  and  I  finally  re- 
solved, and  ever  afterward  abided  by  the  resolution,  that  my 
heart  should  never  be  sickened  with  the  hopeless  task  of  attempt- 
ing to  establish  one. 

There  appeared  to  be  reason  for  supposing  that  the  drowned 
informer  had  hoped  for  a  reward  out  of  this  forfeiture,  and  had 
obtained  some  accurate  knowledge  of  Magwitch's  affairs.  When 
his  body  was  found,  many  miles  from  the  scene  of  his  death,  and 
so  horribly  disfigured  that  he  was  only  recognizable  by  the  con- 
tents of  his  pockets,  notes  were  still  legible,  folded  in  the  outer 
case  of  the  watch  he  wore.  Among  these,  were  the  name  of  a 
banking-house  in  New  South  Wales  where  a  sum  of  money  was, 
and  the  designation  of  certain  lands  of  considerable  value.  Both 
these  heads  of  information  were  in  a  list  that  Magwitch,  while  in 
prison,  gave  to  Mr.  daggers,  of  the  possessions  he  supposed  I 
should  inherit,  His  ignorance. --poor  feliow,  at  last  served  him; 
he  never  mistrusted  hut  that  my  inheritance  was  quite  safe,  with 
Mr.  Jaggers's  aid. 

Alter  three  day's  delay,  during  which  the  crown  prosecution 
stood  over  for  the  production  of  the  witness  from  the  prison-ship, 
the  witness  completed  the  easy  case.  He  was  committed  to  take 
his  trial  at  the  next  Sessions,  which  would  come  on  in  a  month. 

It  was  at  this  dark  time  of  my  life  that  Herbert  returned  home 
one  evening,  a  good  deal  cast  down,  and  said  : 

"  My  dear  Handel,  I  fear  I  shall  soon  have  to  leave  you." 

His  partner  having  prepared  me  for  that,  I  wife  less  surprised 
than  he  thought, 

"  We  shall  lose  a  fine  opportunity  if  I  put  off  going  to  Cairo, 
and  1  am  very  muoh  afraid  I  must  go,  Handel,  when  you  most 
need  me." 

"  Herbert,  I  shall  always  need  you,  because  I  shall  always  love 
you  ;  but  my  need  is  no  greater  now  than  at  another  time." 

"You  will  be  so'lonelv*" 

"  1  have  not  leisure  to  think  of  that,"  said  I.  "  You  know  that  I 
am  always  with  him  to  the  full  extent  of  the  time  allowed,  and  that  I 
should  be  with  him  all  day  long,  if  I  could.  And  when  I  come 
away  from  him,  you  know  that  my  thoughts  are  with  him." 

The  dreadful  condition  to  which  lie  was  brought  was  so  appal- 
ling to  both  of  us  that  we  could  not  refer  to  it  in  plainer  words. 


360  GEEAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Herbert,  "  let  the  near  prospect  of  our 
separation — for  it  is  very  near — be  my  justification  for  troubling 
yon  about  yourself.     Have  you  thought  of  your  future  '.'' 

"No,  for  I  have  been  afraid  to  think   of  any  future." 

"  But  yours  cannot  be  dismissed  ;  indeed,  my  dear,  dear  Han- 
del, it  must  not  be  dismissed.  1  wish  you  would  enter  on  it  now, 
as  far  as  a  few  friendly  words  go,  with  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  I. 

"  In  this  branch  house  of  ours,  Handel,  we  mast  have  a — " 

I  saw  that  his  delicacy  was  avoiding  the  right  word,  so  I  said, 
'•A  clerk." 

A  clerk.  And  I  hope  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  he  may  ex- 
pand (as  a  certain  clerk  of  your  acquaintance  has  expanded)  into 
a  partner.  Now,  Handel — in  short,  my  dear  boy,  will  you  come 
to  me." 

There  was  something  charmingly  cordial  and  engaging  in  the 
manner  in  which,  after  saying  "  Now,  Handel,''  as  if  it  were  the 
grave  beginning  of  a  portenlious  business  exordium,  he  had  sud- 
denly given  up  that  tone,  stretched  out  his  lunost  hand,  and  spo- 
ken like  a  school  boy. 

"Clara  and  I  have  talked  about  it  again  and  again,"  Herbert 
pursued,  "  and  the  dear  little  tiling  b<  ■  only  this  evening, 

with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  say  to  you  thai  if  you  will  live  with  us 
when  we  *•(  i>  e  together,  she  will  do  her  best  to  make  you  happy, 
and  to  convince  her  husband's  friend  that  lie  is  her  friend  too. — 
'We  should  get  on  so  well,  Handel!  " 

1  thanked  her  heartily,  and  1  thanked  him  heartily,  but   said   1 

yet  make  sure  of  joining  him  as  he  so  kindly  offered. — 

Firs!  iid  was  too  preoccupied   to  be  aide   to  take  in  the 

subject  clearly.     Secondly Yes  !     Secondly,  there  was  a  vague 

something  lii  gering  in  my  thoughts  that  will  come  out  very  near 
the  end  of  this  slight  narrative. 

"But   if  you  thought,  Herbert,  that   you  could,  without  doing 
any  injury  to  your  business,  leave  the   question  open  for  a  little 
While— " 
'    "  For  any  while,"  cried  Herbert.     "  Six  months,  a  year ! " 

-Nor  so  long  as  that,"  said  I.  "Two  or  three  months  at 
most.  ' 

Herbert  was  highly  delighted  when  we  shook  hands  on  this  ar- 
rangement, and  said  he  could  now  take  rourage  to  tell  me  that  he 
believed  be  must  go  away  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

"  And  Clara  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The  clear  little  thing,"  returned  Herbert,  "  holds  dutifully  to 
her  father  as  long  as  he  lasts ;  but  he  won't  last  long.     Mrs.  Whim- 
>  confides  to  me  that  he  is  certainly  going." 

"Not  to  sav  an  unfeeling  thing,"  said  1,  "he  cannot  do  better 
o." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  361 

"  I  am  afraid  that  must  be  admitted,"  said  Herbert :  "  and  then 
T  shall  come  back  for  the  dear  little  thing,  and  the  dear  little  thing 
and  I  will  walk  quietly  into  the  nearest  church.  Rcmembet  !— 
The  blessed  darling  conies  of  no  family,  my  dear  Handel,  and  nev- 
er looked  into  the  red  book?  and  hasn't  a  notion  about  her  grand- 
papa.   'What  a  fortune  for  the  son  of  my  mother!  " 

Oh  the  Saturday  in  thai  same  week-  I  look  my  leave  of  Her- 
bert— full  of  bright  hope,  but  sail  and  sorry  to  leave  me — as  he 
sat  on  one  of  the  sea-port  mail  coaches.  1  went  into  a  coffee-house 
to  write  a  little  note  to  (Mara,  telling  her  he  had  gone  off  sending 
his  love  to  her  over  and  over  again,  and  then  went  to  my  lonely 
home — if  it  deserved  the  name,  tor  it  was  now  no  home  to  me,  and 
I  had  no  home  anywhere. 

On  the  stairs  I  encountered  Wemmick,  who  was  coming  down, 
after  an  unsuccessful  application  of  his  knuckles  to  my  door.  I 
had  not  m^n  him  alone  since  the  disastrous  issue  of  the  attempted 
flight;  and  he  had  come,  in  his  private  and  personal  capacity,  to 
say  a  few  words  of  explanation  in  reference  to  that  failure. 

••The  late  Compev."  said  Wemmick,  "  had  by  little  and  little 
got  at  the  bottom  of  half  of  the  regular  business  now  transacted, 
and  it  was  from  the  talk  of  some  of  his  people  in  trouble  (some  of 
his  people  being  always  in  trouble)  that  I  heard  what  1  did.  i 
kept  my  ears  open,  seeming  to  have  them  shut,  until  I  heard  that 
he  was  absent,  and  I  thought  that  would  he  the  liesl  time  for  mak- 
ing the  attempt,  1  can  only  suppose  now  that  it  was  part  of  his 
policy,  as  a  very  clever  man,  habitually  to  deceive  his  own  instru- 
ments. You  don  t  blame  me,  I  hope,  Mr.  Pip  ?  1  am  sure  1  tried 
to  serve  you  with  all  my  heart." 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  that,  Wemmiuk,  as  you  can  he,  and  1  thank 
you  most  earnestly  for  all  your  interest  and  friendship." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much.     It's  a  bad  job,"  said  \\ 
mick,  scratching  his  head,  "and   I  assure  you   I   haven't  been  so 
cut  up  for  a  long  time.     What  1  look  at  is  the  sacriticeof  so  much 
portable  property.     Dear  me  !  " 

"  What  /  think  of.  Wemmick,  is  the  poor  owner  of  the  prop- 
erty." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Wemmick.  "  <  >f  course  there  can  be  no 
objection  to  your  being  sorry  for  him,  and  I'd  put  down  a  uve- 
pound  note  myself  to  get  him  out  of  it.  But  what  1  look  at  is 
tliis.  The  late  Compev  having  been  beforehand  with  him  in  in- 
telligence of  his  return,  and  being  so  determined  to  bring  him  to 
book,  1  don't  think  he  could  have  been  saved.  Whereas  the  port- 
able property  certainly  could  have  been  saved.  That's  the  differ- 
ence between  the  property  and  the  owner,  don'l  you  see  I" 

I  invited  Wemmick  to  come  tip  stairs  and   refresh   himself  with 
a*glass  of  grog  before  walking  to  Walworth,     lie  accepted  the  in 
vitation,  and  while  be  was  drinking  his  moderate  allowance  sai'' 


i 


362  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

with  nothing  to  lead  up  to  it,  and  after  having  appeared  rather 
fidgety: 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  meaning  to  take  a  holiday  on  Mon- 
day, Mr.  Pip?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  have  not  done  such  a  -thing  these  twelve 
months." 

"These  twelve  years,  more  likely,"  said  WemmicR.  "Yes. — 
I'm  going  Id  take  a  holiday.  Mure  than  that  ;  I'm  going  to  take 
a  walk.  More  than  that  ;  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  take  a  walk  with 
me." 

I  was  about  to  excuse  myself,  as  being  but  a  had  companion 
just  then,  when  Wemmick  anticipated  me. 

"  1  know  your  engagements, V  said  he.  "and  I  know  you  are  out 
of  sorts,  .Mr.  }'ii>.  Hut  if  you  eoidd  oblige  me.  1  should  take  it 
as  a  kindness.  Hain't  a  long  walk,  and  it's  an  early  one.  Say  it 
might  occupy  you  (including  breakfast  on  the  walk)  from  eight  to 
twelve.     Couldn't  you  stretch  a  point  and  manage  it  .'  " 

He  had  done  so  much  for  me  at  various  times  that  this  was  very 
little  to  do  for  him.  I  said  I  could  manage  it — would  manage 
it — and  he  was  so  very  much  pleased  by  my  acquiescence  thai  1 
pleased  too.  At  ids  particular  request,  1  appointed  to  call  for 
him  at  the  Castle  at  half-past  eighl  on  Monday  morning,  and  so  we 
parted  for  the  time. 

Punctual  to  my  appointment,  I  rang  at  tin-  Castle  irate  on  the 
Monday  morning,  and  was  received  by  Wemmick  himself;  who 
struck  me.  as  looking  tighter  than  usu;d.  and  having  a  sleeker  hat 
on.  Within,  there  were  two  glasses  of  rumand-milk  prepared,  and 
two  biscuits.  .  \  ed  must  have  heel)  stirring  with  the  lark, 
ito  the  perspective  of  his  bedroom,  1  observed  that 
his  bed  was  empty. 

When   w#  fortified   ourselves  with   the  rum-aud-milk  and 

,-ere  going  out  for  the  walk  with  that  training  prep- 
aration on  us.  1  was  considerably  surprised  to  see  Wemmick  take 
up  a  fishing-rod,  and  put  it  over  his  shoulder.  "  Why,  we  are  not 
goiiii:  tishing  !"  said  1.  "No,"  returned  Wemmick,  "hut  I  like  to 
Walk  with  oi 

1  thought  this  odd  ;  however.  I  said  nothing,  and  we  set  otf. — 
We  went  toward  Camberwell  Green,  and  when  we  were  therea 
bouts  Wemmick  said,  suddenly. 

"  Halloa  !     Here's  a  church  !" 

There  was  nothing  very  surprising  in  that;  but  again,  I  was 
raiher  surprised,  when  ;  -  if  he  were  animated  by   a  brill- 

ant  ii 

"  Let's  go  in  !" 

We  went  in.  Wemmick  leaving  his  fishing-rod  jn  the  parch,  and 
•ed  all  round.     In  the  meantime  Wemmick  was  diving  into  his 
ockets,  and  getting  something  out  of  paper  there. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  363 

"  Halloa  !"  said  he.  "  Here's  a  couple  of  pair  of  gloves  !  Let's 
put  'era  on  !  " 

As  the  gloves  were  white  kid  gloves,  and  as  the  post-office  was 
widened  to  its  utmost  extern,  I  now  began  to  have  my  strong  sus- 
picions. They  were  strengthened  into  certainty  when  I  beheld 
the  Aged  enter  at  a  side  Amir,  escorting  a  lady. 

"  Halloa  ! "  said  Wemmick.  "  Here'siffiss  Skiffins !  Let's  have 
a  wedding." 

That  discreet  damsel  was  attired  as  usual,  except  that  she  was 
engaged  in  substituting  for  her  green  kid  gloves  a  pair  of 
white.  The  Aged  was  likewise  occupied  in  preparing  a  similar  sac- 
rifice for  the  altar  of  Hymen.  The  old  gentleman,  however,  ex- 
perienced so  much  difficulty  in  getting  his  gloves  on,  that  Wem- 
mick found  it  necessary  to  pul  him  with  his  hack  against  a  pillar, 
and  then  to  get  behind  the  pillar  bimse  f  and  pull  away  at  them, 
while  I  for  my  part  held  the  old  gentleman  round  the  waist,  that 
be  might  present  an  equal  and  safe  resistance.  By  dint  of  this 
ingenious  scheme  his  gloves  were  got  on  to  perfection. 

The  clerk  and  clergyman  then  appearing,  we  were  rarged  in 
order  at  those  fatal  rails.  True  to  his  notion  of  seeming  to  do 
it  all  without  preparation,  I  heard  Wemmick  say  to  himself  as  he 
took  something  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket  before  the  service  be- 
gan, "Halloa!     Here's  a  ring  !" 

I  acted  in  the  capacity  of  backer,  or  best-man,  to  the  bride- 
groom ;  while  a  little  limp  pew  opener,  in  a  soft  bonnet  like  a  ba- 
by's, made  a  feint  of  being  the  bosom  friend  of  Miss  Skiffins.  The 
responsibility  of  giving  the  lady  away  devolved  upon  the  Aged, 
which  led  to  the  clergyman's  being  unintentionally  scandalized, 
and  it  happened  thus:  When  he  said,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman 
to  be  married  to  this  man.'"  the  old  gentleman,  not  in  the  least 
knowing  what  point  ol  the  service  we.had  arrived  at,  sjood  most 
amiably  beaming  at  the  ten  commandments.  Upon  which  the 
clergyman  said  again,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  marri< 
this  man?"  The  old  gentleman  being  still  in  a  state  of  most  es- 
timable unconsciousness,  the  bridegroom  cried  out  in  his  a< 
tomed  voice,  "Now  Aged  P.  yon  know;  whogiveth  ?"  To  which 
the  Aged  replied  with  great  briskness,  before  saying  that  //eg;wv, 
"All  right,  John,  all  right,  my  boy!'  And  the  clergyman  came 
tii  so  gloomy  a  pause  upon  it,  that  I  had  doubts  for  a  moment 
whether  we  should  get  completely  married  that  day. 

It  was  completely  done,  however,  and  when  we  were  going  out 
of  church  Wemmick  took  the  cover  ofi'  the  font  and  put  his  white 
gloves  in  it,  and  put  the  cover  on  again.  Mrs.  Wemmick,  more 
heedful  of  the  future,  put  her  white  gloves  in  her  pocket  and  as- 
sumed her  green.  "  No->0,  Mr.  Pip,""  said  Wemmick,  triumphant- 
ly shouldering  the  fishing-rod  as  we  came  out,  "let  me  ask  you 
whether  any  body  would  suppose  this  to  be  a  wedding  party  V 


364  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Breakfast  had  been  ordered)  at  a  pleasant  little  tavern  a  mile  or 
so  away  upon  the  rising  ground  beyond  llie  Green  ;  and  there  was 
a  bagatelle  board  in  the  room  in  case  we  should  desire  to  unbend 
our  minds  after  the  solemnity.  It  was  pleasant  to  observe  that 
]\Irs.  Wemmick  no  longer  unwound  Wennnick's  arm  when  ii 
adapted  itself  to  her  figure,  but  sal  in  a  high-backed  chair  against 
the  wall,  like  a  violoncello  in  its  case,  and  submitted  to  be  em- 
braced as  that  melodious  instrument  might  have  done. 

JVe  had  an  excellent  breakfast,  and  when  any  one  declined  any 
thing  on  the  table,  Wemmick  said,  "Provided  by  contract, 
you  know;  don't  be  afraid  of  it  !"  I  drank  to  the  new  couple* 
drank  to  the  Aged,  drank  to  the  Castle,  saluted  the  bride  at  part- 
ing, and  made  myself  as  agreeable  as  I  co^ld. 

Wemmick  came  down  to  the  door  with  me,  and  I  again  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  wished  him  joy. 

"Thankee  !"  said  Wemmick,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  She's  such 
a  manager  of  fowls  you  have  no  idea.  You  shall  have  some  eggs, 
and  judge  for  yourself.  I  sa.v-  Mr.  Pip!"  calling  me  back,  and 
speaking  low.  "This  is  altogether  a  Walworth  sentiment, 
please."* 

"  I  understand.     Not  lobe  mentioned  in  Little  Britain,"  said  I. 

Wemmick  nodded.  "  .After  what  you  let  out  the  other  day,  Mr. 
Jaggers  may  as  well  not  know  of  it.  He  might  think  my  brain 
was  softening,  or  something  of  the  kind." 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


He  lay  in  prison  very  ill,  during  the  whole  interval  between  bis 
connubial  for  trial  and  the  coming  round  of  the  Sessions/  He  had 
broken  two  ribs,  they  bad  wounded  one  of  his  lungs,  and  he  breath- 
ed, with  meat  pain  and  difficulty,  which  increased  daily.  It  was  a 
conseyuence  of  his  hurt  that  he  spoke  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely  au- 
dible; therefore  be  spoke  very  little.  But  be  was  ever  ready  to 
isten  to  me,  and  it  became  the  first  duty  of  my  life  to  say  to  him, 
ml  read  to  him  what  I  knew  he  ought  to  hear. 

Being  far  too  ill  to  remain  in  the  common  prison  he  was  remov- 
-i'ter  the  first  day  or  so,  into  the  Infirmary.     This  gave  me 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  365 

opportunities  of  being  with  him  that  I  could  not  otherwise  have 
had.  And  but  for  his  illness  he  would  have  been  put  in  irons,  for 
he  was  regarded  as  ,a  determined  prison  breaker,  and  1  know  not 
What  else. 

Although  I  saw  him  every  day,  it  was  for  only  a  short  time; 
hence  the  regularly  recurring  spaces  of  our  separation  were  long 
enough  to  record  on  his  face  any  slight  changes  that  occurred  in 
his  physical  state.  I  do  not  recollect  that.  I  once  saw  any  change 
in  it  for  the  better;  he  wasted,  and  became  slowly  weaker  and 
worse,  day  by  day,  from  the  day  when  the  prison  door  closed  upon 
him. 

This  kind  of  submission  or  resignation  thai  he  showed  was  that 
of  a -nan  who  was  tired  out.  1  sometimes  derived  an  impression, 
from  his  manner,  or  from  a  whispered  word  or  two  which  escaped 
him,  that  he  pondered  over  the  question  whether  he  Inight  have  been 
a  better  man  under  better  circumstances.  Bui  he  never  justified 
himself  by  a  hint  tending  that  way,  or  tried  to  bend  the  past  out  of 
its  eternal  shape. 

'  It  happened  on  two  or  three  occasions  in  my  presence  that  his 
desperate  reputation  was  alluded  to  by  one  or  other  of  the  people 
in  attendance  on  him.  A  smile  crossed  his  face  then,  and  he  turn- 
ed his  eyes  on  me  with  a  trustful  look,  as  if  he  were  confident  that 
1  had  seen  some  small  redeeming  touch  in  him.  even  so  long 
BLS  when  I  was  a  little  child.  As  to  all  the  rest,  he  was  humble 
contrite,  and  I  never  knew  him  complain. 

When  the  Sessions  came  round,  Mr.  Jaggers  caused  an  applica 
lion  to  be  made  for  the  postponement  of  his  trial  until  the  follow- 
ing Sessions,  it  was  obviously  made  with  the  assurance  that,  he 
could  not  live  80  long,  and  was  refused.  The  trial  came  on  at 
once,  and  when  he  was  put,  to  the  bar  he  was  seated  in  a  chair. 
No  objection  was  made  to  my  getting  close  to  the  dock,  on  the 
outside  of  it,  and  holding  the  hand  that  he  stretched  forth  to  me. 

The  trial  was  very  short  and  very  clear.  Such  1  lungs  as  could 
be  said  for  him  were  said — how  h  had  taken  to  industrious  habits, 
and  had  thriven  lawfully  and  reputably.  But  nothing  could  unsay 
the  fact  thai  he  had  returned,  and  was  there  in  presence  of  Hie 
Judge  and  Jury.  It  was  impossible  to  try  him  for  that,  and  do 
otherwise,  than  find  bin;  Guilty. 

At  that  time  it  was  the  custom  (as  I  learned  from  my  terrible 
experience  of  that  Sessions)  to  devote  a  concluding  day  to  the 
tag  of  Sentences,  and  to  make  a  finishing  effect  with  the  Sen- 
tence of  Death.  But  for  the  indelible  picture  that,  my  remem- 
brance now  holds  before  me,  I  could  scarcely  believe,  even  as  I 
Wiite  these  words',  that  I  saw  two-and-  liirty  men  and  women  nut 
before   the  -Judge   to  receive   thai    senteix  icr.     Foremost 

among  the  two-and-thirty  was  he;  sealed,  that  he  might  get  breath 
enough  to  keep  life  in  him. 


ECTATIONS: 

•  L>ear  noy,    tie  i  "own  by  his  bed  :"  I  thought  you 

But  I  knotfed  you  couldn't  "be  that." 
••  h  is  jost  the  time,"  said  I.    rt  1  wailed  for  it  at  the  gate-." 
h;  always  waits  at  the  gare;  don't  you,  dear  boy  1 "' 
N'ot  to  lose  a  moment  of  the  time." 
"';  .  thankee.    G»d  ble^s  >  never 

deserted  n 

1  pressed  his  hand  In  smmce,  for. \  could  hoi  hat  I  had 

once  meant  to  desert  him. 

\;id  what's  best  of  ail,"  he  said.  "you'\e  been  more  comfort- 
able alonger  me  since  I  was   under  a  dark  cloud,  than 
shone.     That's  best  of  all." 

on  his  back  breathing  with  great  difficulty.      Do  what 
(.uld.  and  love  me  though  he  did,  the  light  left   his 

a  film  came  i  lacid  lo*bk  at  the  while 

i.. 
on  in  much  pain  to-day  '.'  " 
'■  !  don't  complain  of  none,  dear  boy.*' 
"  You  never  do  complah  [agwitch." 

s  h^d  spoken  his  last  words.      He  smiled,  and  1  understood 
lo  mean  thai  he  wished  to  lift  my  hand  and  lay  it  on  his 
'.     I   laid  it    there,   and  he  smiled   again,  and  put  both  his 
:  it. 

lime  ran  out  while  we  were  thus;  but  looking  round, 

the  governor  oi  the  prison  standing  by  me,  and  he   whis- 

\c:."     I  thanked  him  gratefully,  and a*k- 

iui  if  he  can  heai   me  '." 

ivemor  stepped   aside,  and  beckoned   the  officer  away. — 

•  without  noise,  divv  Be  film 

plftcid   look  at  the  white  ceiling,  and  he  looked  mo 

i.  I  must  tell  you  m  .     You  understand 

pressure  on  my  hand. 
:  had  a  child  once  whom  you  loved  and  lost." 
A  stronger  pressure  on  my  hand. 

•■  she  lived  and  found  powerful  friends.     She  is   living  now. — 
Sine  is  a  lady  and  very  beautiful.     And   I  love  her  !  " 

With  a  last. faint  effort,  which  would  have  been    |  but 

for  my  yielding  to  it  and  assisting  it,  he  raised  my  hand  to  his  lips. 
Thenlie  -cutis  let  it  sink  upon  his  breast  again,  with  his  own  hands 
lying  placid  look  at  the  white  cfeiling  came  back,  and 

Ir.opped  quietly  on  his?  breast 
Mindful,  then,  we  hud  -tier,  J   thought"  of  the 

two  men  who  weiH  tip  into  the  Temple  to  pray,   and  knew  that 
there  were  no  better  words  that  1   could  ray    beside  his  bed  than 
^  Lord,  be  merciful  to  him,  a  aiiiner !  " 


